#i’m at work today and i can’t think about anything but the election

[dix0nspretty]

Knives, Bikes, and Stitches, Oh My!

Summary: Daryl is working on his motorcycle and you watch. Too bad you can't keep your focus.

Daryl Dixon x F!Reader, 1.3k words

Era: Prison (again) because he's just so yummy...

TW: Mention of blood and stitches. Maybe chronic horniness?

Y'all loved my first story and I hope this one whets your appetites just as well! I have no idea how motorcycles or vehicles of literally any kind work, so please feel free to educate me in the comments.

You put the fear of God in Daryl every time he sees you with a knife.

It’s not that you can’t use one. On the contrary, you’re a force to be reckoned with when you’re fighting. Sometimes all that can be seen of you in a fight is the shine of blood-tinged metal as you slash and stab at whatever is attacking with your twin blades. No, your knives are comfortable and at home in your grip. Maybe too comfortable.

“How many times I got to tell ya to stop eatin’ off yer damn knife?” Daryl’s rough accent sounds out in the empty courtyard. His head is bowed low as he works on his bike, not looking up as he speaks.

I’m perched on the tabletop of one of the prison’s picnic tables eating a can of peaches. Daryl, for some reason unknown to me, had elected to start taking his bike apart and putting it back together and I followed along to watch the process. I don’t know shit about vehicles, much less motorcycles, but I like spending time with the grumpy man.

“It’s fine, I’m not gonna cut myself.” I tell him as I tilt my head down to drag a slice of peach off the blade. Daryl’s eyes don’t move from the work in front of him, but I can feel him watching me. I pull the chunk into my mouth and lick the blade clean of the sticky juice.

“Told ya to cut it out.” I’m eating the canned fruit haphazardly, not paying any attention to how close I am to the edge. Daryl shakes his head. He knows it’s a matter of time before I cut my lip or tongue.

At his repeated command, I roll my eyes but pull away from the edge of my knife. I set the can of peaches down and watch him. His brown hair is getting longer now and it’s sliding down into his eyes, shielding most of his face from my watchful gaze.

“What are you doing, anyways?” I ask. I scoot myself closer to the edge of the table and peer down over his shoulder. He has one of his tools in his hand and some pieces of metal I can’t identify. It is roughly the size of my fist and cylindrical. Whatever it is, it looks important.

Daryl glances over his shoulder, feeling my curious eyes looking down. He huffs and continues his task. “Workin’.”

“No shit. Working on what?” I’m playing with my knife in my fingers, absentmindedly twisting and flipping it. Daryl looks up at me through his hair, squinting one eye against the sunlight. My breath catches in my throat, and I try to play it cool.

“Do ya really want to know or are ya jus’ bored?” He asks in his gruff voice. I don’t answer for a second. He looks so pretty. Get a grip, Y/N, I think to myself.

“Really want to know. Come on, I don’t know anything about bikes. Teach me something.” Daryl squints at me for several seconds longer and I’m convinced he’s going to send me inside to bother someone else, but he slowly starts talking.

“’M cleanin’ the carburetor.” He tilts his hand up to show me the same piece I was looking at earlier. “It’s startin’ to get clogged.”

“Oooookay. What’s that do?”

“It keeps the engine runnin’ smooth, basically. Don’t keep it clear and that can fuck up the bike, make it stall or overheat. Gotta take it apart and clean it every few months.”

Daryl lets me watch over his shoulder as he points out different parts of the carburetor and how to clean them. After a few minutes, his gruff voice starts to fade out and my mind begins to wander.

He just looks so good. His hands are greasy and dirty from all of his work today and his biceps are sweaty from the Georgia heat. He’s wearing one of his simple black shirts that already fit him so well and the sweat is only making him look more delicious. I’m watching his hands work over the small brass jets when I feel burning heat in my palm and look down.

I’d been messing with my knife the entire time and cut myself. I instinctively let go of the blade and it hits the concrete with a harsh clang. Daryl’s head lifts at the noise and he spins around right as I rush to tuck both hands behind my back. I look like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar and I’m trying to hide the chocolatey evidence. Except this time, it’s blood.

Daryl’s eyes run over me for a second, then flick down to my knife as it sits on the dirty floor. He slowly bends down and picks it up. “Y/N.” He starts, a low warning in his tone.

“It’s fine! I’m fine, I just dropped it.” My voice rambles out. There’s a high, nervous note to it and I’m hoping to God he doesn’t notice.

He raises an eyebrow. “If yer fine, why’s the knife got fresh blood on it?” Fuck.

“Uhhhhh.” I look around the courtyard, trying to find an excuse. I, naturally, see nothing. “Magic?”

Daryl huffs and crosses his arms. “Let me see your hands.”

I wince. I don’t want to get in trouble, but I can feel the blood dripping off my hand, and it stings. The longer I hold off showing him the angrier he’ll get.

“Y/N. Hand, now.” Daryl’s voice leaves no room for arguments.

“Jus’, don’t be mad?” I ask. He says nothing and I sigh, then slowly move my hands back in front of me. The blood is quickly evident on my skin.

“God damn it, girl. Why can’t ya ever listen to me?” Despite his rough tone, his hands are gentle as he takes my wrist and tilts my hand, inspecting the damage. I risk a glance at my hand. There’s a slash across my entire palm and more blood than there should be. It’s going to need stitches.

“Ya need stitches.” Told you.

 Daryl looks up from my hand but doesn’t let go of my wrist. His eyes lock with mine and he gives me a warm look. There’s exasperation and concern and I don’t know what to do with it. He takes a surprisingly clean rag from his pocket and ties it around my bleeding palm, firmly but not enough to hurt.

I can’t help but be surprised by just how gentle he’s being with me. I was expecting a pop in the side of the head and a banishment to Hershel’s cell. I look up at him through my lashes, waiting for my verbal lashing. After almost a minute, I realize there is none.

“Does this mean I gotta go in now?” I try to keep the potential disappointment from my voice and don’t entirely succeed.

“Yeah, yer going to go get those stitches. Ya weren’t listenin’ anyways.” He grumbles at me. “The hell were you doin’?”

I look away from him. I do not want to explain that I was too busy being horny over him to notice that I gouged my palm open. I risk a glance at him and I’m caught by those ocean-blue eyes.

“I was watching your hands…”

Daryl pauses, then snorts. “Maybe instead of watchin’ my hands ya should’ve been watching yours. Go get your damn stitches and I’ll show ya somethin’ else.”

[runnning-outof-time]

Hello K! Happy 3.5K followers celebration! I couldn’t wait to join in the celebration and also see what you have prepared! Enjoy the bunch of followers!

May I ask for a glass of wine 🍷? 🥰✨🎉🍾

This is my request: Tommy + “Look at me right now.” (If it’s not taken already of course)

Thanks for this lovely message, Mar! I’m sorry it took me a bit to write your request - it got pretty angsty. And I’m sure none of y’all were watching my posting schedule, but I’m technically a day letter with this one. Sorry! I hope you like what I did with it! Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration - find more stories here!

Take the Ring

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Tommy’s a bit of an asshole…what else is new?, (Y/N)’s a bit brash in this one too

Word Count: 964

Summary: (Y/N)’s last straw slips when she confronts Tommy about his absence.

“I really can’t let you in there, Miss,” the man sitting behind the desk in the receptionist area told (Y/N) for the umpteenth time.

(Y/N) sighed. She’d been at this for at least twenty minutes now. She was hoping that maybe her persistence would soon reward her with a different answer. So far it hadn’t been helping.

“Why not?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.

“Because you do not have an appointment. Mr. Shelby only sees those who have an appointment scheduled with him,” the man explained.

“And if I were to say that I was his fianceé?” she tried, “would I need an appointment then?”

The man’s expression changed immediately. (Y/N) just watched as he scrambled to get up from his chair as quickly as he could. “No, you most certainly wouldn’t. I’m sorry, ma’am,” he apologized as he led her to the door that connected to Tommy’s office.

“Thank you,” she nodded at him, a pleased smile on her face as the door was opened to show Tommy sitting at his desk, his face practically buried in papers.

“Mr. Shelby, your fianceé’s here to see you,” the secretary announced, allowing (Y/N) to step inside before he shut the door again.

Tommy’s head snapped up upon hearing the door shut to see (Y/N) standing with her hands clasped behind her back. “Why’re you here?” he asked, no evident emotion present in his voice. If anything, he was confused as to why she was paying him a visit.

“Seriously, Tommy?” (Y/N) was shocked by his nonchalant question. Tommy raised his eyebrows and flipped his right palm to the sky, as if he was repeating his question in a nonverbal manner. “You’ve forgotten what we were supposed to do during lunch today?” Silence followed her question. “We were supposed to tour the venue?”

A sigh left Tommy’s lips. “Something came up, love,” he told her, removing his glasses then so that he could pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Just like with the fittings and the tasting appointments. Something always comes up,” (Y/N) huffed, crossing her arms, “it’s almost like you don’t want this wedding to happen anymore.”

“That’s not it,” he said, shaking his head.

“Than what is it?” her eyes were wide as she waited intently for an answer.

“I’ve got important things to do here, (Y/N). I’ve been elected to this position, and there’s expectations placed on me. I’ll call the venue and reschedule the tour,” he spoke in a flat voice, as if he was dealing with another item of business.

“No, you’re not going to reschedule it just so that you can miss it again,” she insisted, pursing her lips to stop them from quivering in anger.

“I won’t miss it,” he assured her.

“You said that the last time,” she snapped.

“And I’m saying it again,” he said dismissively. Shock filled (Y/N)’s features then as he looked back at his papers, trying to figure out where he was with his work before she’d entered the room.

Is he being serious right now?! (Y/N) thought incredulously, her eyes wide as she watched him slip back into his work like it was nothing. “Look at me right now,” she demanded then, even surprising herself by how assertive she sounded. She waited until his eyes were back on her before continuing, “do you even care about this, Tommy? Do you care about us?”

Tommy stared at her for a moment, digesting her question and thinking it over. His eyebrows were so deeply furrowed together at this point that his forehead was almost starting to hurt. Where had all of this come from? “Where’s this coming from, eh?” he asked exactly what was on his mind.

“It’s just that…” (Y/N) paused with a long sigh. She’d kept all of these feelings bottled up, but now that it was time to talk about them, she had no clue where to start. “I feel like I’m on my own with everything,” she finally said. Her statement barely scratched the surface of what she was feeling, but it was a start.

“You’re not. I’ve got a lot to do, (Y/N). You know that,” he told her, motioning to his desk before he glanced at the clock. He had a meeting that he needed to be at.

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. Sometimes it feels…”

“Mr. Shelby, you’re needed for a meeting,” the secretary broke into (Y/N)’s statement, his words making Tommy stand from his desk.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” he told the man, who nodded and shut the door. He took a glance at (Y/N), who now looked baffled, before he went through the motions of lighting himself a cigarette. “Now, is there anything else that’s needed to be talked about? Anything that can’t wait until I get home?”

Is. He. Being. Serious. Right. Now? she repeated to herself as she blinked a few times, trying to wrap her mind around the fact that he was essentially dismissing her. The more she thought about it, the more her anger rose. This was the final straw for her. She was at the end of her rope.

“Yeah, actually there is something else,” she responded, her emotions quickly becoming apparent as she took a few steps closer to his desk while fighting with the piece of jewelry present on her left hand’s fourth finger. “Take the ring, Tommy. I’m finished with all of this.”

“(Y/N)…”

“No. Save it. I see how this ends now, and I’m saving myself from it. Goodbye, Tommy Shelby,” she cut his objection off, looking up at him only to reveal her glare before she turned on her heel and stormed out of the office.

*tags in reblog so that hopefully they get sent out

MASTERLIST

[soulofapatrick]

The Beauty and the Brawn - Emmett Cullen x Reader

Summary: You try to prove to Emmett that he won’t hurt you with his enhanced strengths

Words: 2k

Warnings: Oral (F!recieving) 

Notes: idk what this is really, just had the idea for a few days 

Y/N’s POV

Emmett is strong, stronger than most vampires having gotten enhanced strength when he was changed. He’s always seen it as an added perk as it’s not something drastic like Alice’s future telling or Benjamin’s elemental manipulations, it was just that he was a little stronger than the others. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Then he met me and now, as much as I tell him otherwise, he sees his strength as a curse. He gets scared he’ll get too carried away with me, forget I’m still human and accidentally hurt me or kill me. As much as I reassure Emmett that he could never hurt me he will still try and avoid the topic, kissing me the most he trust himself to do. Every time we get hot and heavy and I guide things on a little he backs up with that pained look in his eyes. Everything about him screams that he wants me back but the pain in his eyes tells me he’s scared which always catches me off guard as this is Emmett Cullen. Outgoing, loud and loving Emmett… too scared to even touch me at times despite how much his feelings were mutual. 

Today is no different and I decide to take a different approach, even if it doesn’t mean sex. I just want Emmett to see that he can trust himself with me and that I’m not as fragile as he thinks. We’re sat on his bed, a bed he got Carlisle to get without specifying why. The Cullen’s don’t know me yet except maybe Alice and Edward because of their gifts but they apparently haven’t said anything to the others. Emmett doesn’t want them to all bombard me and he’s also worried about how Rosalie will take it that he’s moved on already which I understand and I agreed to take it as slow as he wants with meeting them.

Emmett’s hand is on my thighs as we sit shoulder to shoulder, watching a movie on the TV he also had installed. I’m barely paying attention to it though, focusing on his icy touch on my bare skin, being in only shorts as it’s just us here for another day to two. Emmett said the others had gone on a hunting trip and he elected to say home. I say fuck it, it’s now or never so I’m turning my body to face him, reaching over to cup his cheek and I ask, “Do you trust me?” 

“Of course I do, why-“ He’s frowning until I begin shifting, moving onto my knees and turning my body towards him, “Y/N, I-“

“Just trust me baby,” I stroke his cheek reassuringly, watching him lean into my palm and those beautiful golden eyes flutter shut for a moment. With Emmett’s eyes still closed I shift my body further until I’m straddling him, legs either side of his thick thighs. His muscles tense as he realises I’m seated, arms resisting ever so slightly when I guide his hands to my hips, holding them there to show him that he won’t hurt me. The heat seems to rise between us as I lean in, lips almost touching his as I whisper, “Emmett, I trust you. I trust you with everything.” 

His eyes fly open at this, the confusion and fear in them until he sees I’m not lying to him, keeping my face open and honestly so he can see the trust and love and it works as his expression softens, “Y/N.” He’s whispering, voice filled with emotions that I can’t quite decipher so I just lean forwards again and capture his lips in a gentle and pliant kiss. The kiss is tender and slow, as if we’re exploring each other for the first time. My heart is racing as I feel the softness of his lips against mine, the taste of him sweet and familiar, the tension in Emmett’s body slowly melting away as he gets lost in the kiss so I take another risk and deep it. Emmett’s hands are moving up and down my sides and back, testing the waters cautiously and the feel of his hands on my skin sends shivers down my spine, knowing I want more. 

Too soon am I having to break the kiss as unlike Emmett I still need to consume oxygen. His golden eyes have darkened a little with love and desire, a soft sound leaving him when I caress his cheek gently, “Emmett,” My voice is a barely above a whisper, as if scared to break the moment, “I need you. Need all of you.” 

Emmett’s eyes widen in surprise at the bluntness of my words, looking at me intently as if trying to decipher if I’m really serious about what I said. I can see the mixture of emotions playing across his face - desire; love; fear and protectiveness. I stay seated in his lap as I wait for his response, letting him work through his emotions and letting him decide. He wants me but he’s afraid of hurting me, his hands retreating again so I catch them in mine and squeeze reassuringly. His eyes flick down to our interlocked hands before back to my face before he’s swallowing and mumbling out, “Start with a shower first?” 

“Whatever you want Pretty Boy.” I’m nodding, guiding one of his large hands to my cheek and pressing a kiss to his open palm before he’s surprising me and drawing me into another kiss. This one’s different, he’s not holding back as much, it’s hungrier almost. There’s an urgency to the kiss, his lips moving with more purpose as his moves to the back of my head, deepening the kiss. His other hand finds it’s way back to my waist, pulling me flush against him. It’s like he’s been holding back for so long and how he’s finally allowing himself to let go and now he can’t seem to get enough. I respond with equal fervour, my hands tangling in his hair as we explore each other’s mouths. 

Emmett’s breaking the kiss before me, standing up effortlessly and cradling me in his arms as if I weight nothing which I guess I really don’t for him. I’m wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders, holding on tight as he carries me to the bathroom, feeling his muscles tense and flex under his shirt with each step. He’s setting me on the counter, a playful smile on his face and a rumble in his chest when I squeal at how cold the counter is. He’s stealing another kiss from me before moving to turn on the shower, letting it heat up and moving back over to me, standing between my legs. He’s looking at me with a soft expression, making sure this is what I really want, his hands running over my waist and pulling back slightly to ask, “You sure about this, honey?” His eyes are filled with concern and love, making me feel even more secure in my decision. 

To prove my point I pull my shirt over my head and letting it fall to the floor, watching Emmett’s lips part slightly in a hitched breath at the sight of me now bare except for a pair of shorts. Emmett’s eyes are skimming over my body, taking in every dip and curve and scar on display to him. His hands coming up to gently trace along my arms and down my sides, as if savouring the feeling of my skin against his fingertips. Despite his obvious desire he still checks with me if this is okay, eyes flicking back up to mine every few seconds until I’m guiding his hands up to my breasts, watching his reaction. He surprises me by dragging me into such a tender and loving kiss as he explores this new territory. 

Our bodies press together, Emmett’s hands now tracing circles on my back as he deepens the kiss, his very obvious arousal pressing into my thigh but he’s taking it slow as if he’ll spook me. His lips move down my neck as he murmurs against the skin, “You’re so fucking beautiful.” His large hands grip my hips and I’m soon standing again, feeling cold fingers dip into the waistband of my shorts. 

“Please.” I’m practically begging and Emmett’s groaning into the crook of my neck, surprising me again as he sinks to his knees as he slides the shorts down my legs, throwing them aside before his gaze finds mine and I’m having to bite my lip at the sight of Emmett on his knees for me. His strong hands grip my hips as he begins nosing at my thighs, lips ghosting over them and teeth grazing until he’s nudging my legs apart enough blow cold air over my slickness, making me gasp and squirm. Before I can say or do anything those skilled lips are kissing my folds, nose bumping my clit before he licks a confident stripe up, gauging my reaction. His tongue flutters against my clit before he’s eating me like a starved man, hands gripping my hips tight enough that I can’t wriggle away from the pleasure. 

My hand is gripping his hair, the other bracing myself against the counter as he moans, sending vibrations through that oversensitive bundle of nerves. He’s dipping his tongue in and out of my core with precision and sloppiness before he moves back to my clit, my body trying to jerk away but his grip is tight enough to promise bruises and fuck that just makes everything more intense. All too soon I can feel myself starting to pulse around his tongue that hasn’t stopped fucking into me and my hands tugs almost painfully at his hair while my head falls back with a whine, my thighs trying to clamp around Emmett’s head as my vision partially whites out and all I hear is white noise, unsure if I’m crying out Emmett’s name. 

“Emm, fuck Emmett, too much.” I’m begging and he finally pulls back, looking up at me with half-lidded eyes and he looks fucking dirty, his mouth and chin shiny with my juices and his golden eyes have darkened even more. His thumbs caress my hips as he pulls himself to his feet moving to kiss me with a cheeky grin when I lightly push his face away saying, “No, clean your face first.” 

“I do believe a shower was suggested.” He agrees and I’m nodding, tugging at his shirt to which he complies, pulling it over his head and I can’t help wet my lips at how good he looks. Sure, I’ve seen Emmett change but this is different, he’s baring himself for me and me alone. His shirt reveals his chiseled abs and braid chest, my eyes roaming over his muscular physique with appreciation. His defined biceps and broad shoulders are evidence of the immense physical strength he possesses and the way his tone torso tapers down to his waist makes me want to run my hands over his hard body. As he undresses further, my gaze is drawn to his thick thighs, my heart racing against as he’s straining against his boxers and fuck, he is in no way small. The boxers barely able to contain him, the angry red head slipped past the waistband, precum wetting his v-line a little, “Come on lovely, eyes up here.” 

I tear my eyes away from his enticing bulge, feeling heat rising to my cheeks at being caught. But I can't help the desire that courses through me as I watch him step out of his boxers, completely naked before me. My heart is pounding in my chest, and I can feel the anticipation building between us as we move towards the shower. As we step under the warm water, Emmett pulls me close, his hands roaming over my wet skin as we continue to explore each other's bodies. I know this is only the beginning, and I can't wait to see what other surprises Emmett has in store for me.

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Twilight Masterlist

[hauntedhokage]

PART 10: Patching Up

WORD COUNT: Thread by thread you're coming to accept that Bakugou really doesn't hate you.

SUMMARY:  1.5k

[series masterlist] | {ao3} | [tumblr masterlist] | {ko-fi} | [spotify playlist]

“We haven’t had a true date night in a while.” 

The comment from Eijirou has you pausing in your apple slicing, and he doesn’t miss the chance to pull a slice from the cutting board to snack on while you’re distracted. “I’m not complaining, though. It’s something Bakugou brought up and wanted to make sure we were okay without that time.”

Of course it was something Bakugou had brought up. But that made you wonder if he was getting that time he needed with his boyfriend as well. Was bringing it up a hint or were you reading too much into it? Probably a yes to the latter, since Bakugou wasn’t the type to tip-toe around a topic when he was talking to Eijirou, but you can’t help but be a bit nervous when the blonde was making observations about your relationship. Things were better, but they still weren’t perfect.

“I hadn’t really thought about it, being honest.” You finally state after a moment of consideration, setting down the knife beside your half sliced apple so you could properly turn to look at your boyfriend. “I feel like we’re still getting that time, are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m not upset about it by any means. I also hadn’t really noticed until he brought it up.”

It was interesting to you that Bakugou would bring it up at all. Not surprising that he’d notice by any means, since the blonde paid attention to everything, but he wouldn’t necessarily comment. Especially where your relationship with Eijirou was concerned. Now you were thinking the worst, and can’t stop yourself from voicing the first thought that came to mind.

“He’s not sick of us being here all the time, is he?”

“No, baby, that’s not it at all.”

“Are you and him getting the time you need? Like, I’m not-”

“You’re not intruding, not taking anything from him. He’s not upset, take a deep breath and relax.” And you do, letting him take your hands in his and holding them to his chest as he takes a deep breath. On the second breath you follow the action, smiling up at your boyfriend as he grins down at you. “Do you wanna go out on a date tonight?”

“Dinner and the arcade?”

“What about the mini golf place?”

“That new one? Nah, let the hype die down first. Last time we went somewhere new people thought I was doing a promo piece on it.”

“We got in for free though,” he reminds, and you roll your eyes as you pull away so you can go back to slicing your apple. “Arcade is good too. Scores on the strength meter reset last week so I gotta reclaim my throne anyway.”

“The only other people who try that thing are like twelve, babe.”

“I'm an inspiration to grow up and get big and strong.”

“More like overly competitive,” you counter, smacking his hand to keep him from taking another apple slice. “If you wanted me to slice an apple for you, you should’ve asked.”

“Is it too late to ask?”

“Considering you already ate half of my apple, yes.” 

You elect to ignore the pathetic whine that leaves him, instead moving what was left of your apple onto the small plate before taking the cutting board to the sink to deal with after you’d finished your snack. You had work to do anyway, he could fend for himself for a couple hours. He doesn’t join you at the kitchen table, instead turning right where you had turned left while saying that he was going to pick out your date night outfit to leave you one less thing to worry about today, and that gives you the moment of freedom from his concerned gaze at how concerned you still were about Bakugou and how the blonde potentially felt about you. 

You hated that you couldn’t just let things happen. He’d told you that he’d never hated you, he’d saved your life, he’d bought you a massive palm that was staring back at you - the palm that only ever brought a smile to your face whenever you looked at it. He was trying and trying so hard, why was it so hard for you to accept that he was okay with you being around? Why was your first instinct to assume that he had a problem whenever he was brought up? That wasn’t fair to him in any way. 

Maybe Bakugou and I need our own date night? You ponder, clicking your pen idly as you consider it. Technically you were going to that community center opening together, but did that count as a date? You didn’t see why it couldn’t, but you also felt that he maybe needed something a bit more private to be comfortable calling it a date. You’d ask Eijirou for his thoughts when he came back from raiding his closet and dresser for a suitable outfit.

“How come you haven’t worn this shirt in a while?” The question comes fifteen minutes later and has you looking up over your laptop to see Eijirou holding up one of your blouses, the black one with the white and orange flowers. The one you’d worn the day you yelled at Bakugou at the news station, the one you’d been staring at every time you saw it neatly folded on the shelf above their washing machine over the last couple of months. The one that reminded you that Bakugou had tried to extend an olive branch and you’d snapped it in two without thinking twice, extending the suffering for the both of you. “It’s one of my favorites and I miss seeing you in it.”

“The button came off,” you explain simply, choosing to leave out the rest of the history that shirt held for the sake of avoiding a conversation about how bad you felt about that day. “I’ve been meaning to take it to the dry cleaner to have them fix it since I can’t but I keep forgetting. The last few weeks have been a bit much.”

“Yeah, fair. Which button was it?”

“The top one. Not really one I use, but I don’t want to lose the button either.”

“You sure you’re not thinking of a different shirt?” He asks, earning a raised brow from you as you lean back in your seat.  “Because the button is attached?”

“No, it was that one because that’s the-” you catch yourself, standing from your chair so you can cross the flat to get to where he’s standing with your shirt in hand. He hands it over easily, concern obvious on his features as he watches you closely inspect the button. “I swear it was this one. This is the shirt I was wearing when I yelled at Bakugou at the station, he had offered to- oh my god.”

“What?”

“He fixed it.” You whisper, looking closely at the threads that held the imitation pearl button in place before comparing it to a button that you knew wasn’t damaged. Sure enough, the threads on the fixed button were brighter than the worn threads of the others - meaning that they were newer. “Katsuki fixed the button.”

It was something that was so small in the grand scheme of things, but in this moment with the history that you had with the blonde it meant everything. He had taken the time to locate your shirt and reattach the button and patch the small tear, even though he had nothing to do with the damage to your shirt. He’d only been there when it happened, that’s all. 

“I’m not good at this shit, but I don’t hate you. Never have.”

He said that to you at the hospital, and you can only laugh to yourself at the fact that he was terrible at this shit. But, clearly, so were you if you’d resigned yourself to never wearing a shirt until you remembered to take it to the dry cleaners when you knew the blonde was capable of fixing it and you just didn’t want to ask. 

“God, I suck,” you whisper, lowering the fabric to see Eijirou watching you with a concerned frown. “I suck so much, Eiji.”

“Not right now, baby. You did then, but how you both were then isn’t how you are now,” he reasons, gently pulling the blouse from you and draping it over his shoulder. “Then, yeah, you both sucked a lot but I think it’s safe to say you’ve both grown out of it and are a lot better now.”

“Yeah, but-”

“No buts, and no more living in the past.” His tone is very final as he gently squeezes your hands, and you can only nod while biting your bottom lip. “Stop worrying, or I’ll kiss that frown off your face.”

“That’s the opposite of a threat, Eijirou,” you tease, finally smiling as he pulls you in for a kiss. “He’s out all night?”

“Yeah, why?” You only look up at him, eyebrow raised as your fingers play with the hair at the base of his neck. “Oh! You don’t want to go out anymore?”

“I’d rather have you kiss the frown off of my face, Eiji.”

[lucent-roase]

an acquaintance of mine argued with me that i am not safe where i live. he said there was nowhere in this country where we would have rights, though i am in about the safest state in America. however, that’s not the point.

please don’t lose hope. there are people who will help you and stop at nothing to keep you safe.

i’m under the trans umbrella and had a hard time navigating through school today. none of my teachers said anything, so i assumed today had to become “just another day” since we’re nearing the end of a quarter. my thoughts were jumbled up and all i could do was be busy with schoolwork.

i had to make up a lab from being sick two weeks ago and i spent my lunch break working on it. by the time i reached my 5th period i realized i had to do a two on one presentation with my teacher i didn’t have time to rehearse.

my Spanish teacher got up from her desk to make an announcement. she spoke up about how she has a student in another class from Ukraine, and my heart sunk. it was the first time i heard a teacher speak about the election today and it finally hit me that this was real. this is real.

my teacher noticed and after her announcement she asked if i was okay, quietly to me. i was still processing at that point i think, so i nodded and looked at the paper i was supposed to rehearse at lunch. but she kept her eyes on me and as her question sunk she brought me out of the classroom where i started crying and told her about my worries as a trans/queer kid, and how disappointment i was. i’m not good at eye contact when i speak, so i stared at the ground while i was ranting and when i was done and looked up, there were tears falling down her face too. she told me how ignorant some people in this country are to have believed all these things trump preached about, how an acquaintance of hers told her that she didn’t want her child to be castrated when she, in her words, “can’t even get a fucking bandaid” from the nurse’s office, and so on.

but she promised that she would keep me safe. she swore that if anyone dared to discriminate against me, she would punish them and trailed off before she got to say anything that might lose her her job. she said i was safe and that my future is too. we hugged and she walked me back into the class.

when it was time for my friend (who is also trans) and i to give our presentation, my teacher told us we didn’t have to do it. she took our papers and said, “there are more important things than a little project. i’ll score you off of your writing”.

there are going to be teachers and adults and colleagues who won’t talk emotions with you and there will be people who threaten your safety. there are also people, more people than you know, who will go above and beyond just so that you feel comfortable and safe. i promise that these horrible four years under trump will end one day and until then, there are people who will make sure you’re safe. there are people who want you to be safe. you will be safe, no matter where you are.

i love you. you are more important than anything else.

[password-door-lock]

Mystictober Day 31-- Halloween

Suit Saeran decides to participate in a Halloween tradition (776 words). 

Saeran can’t hide his smile as he pounds on your door. Usually, playing with his idiotic toy is a rather frustrating affair, but Saeran is very lucky to have a great idea up the sleeve of his suit jacket today. If there’s one thing he loves doing, it’s ruining holidays for you. He will gladly take the opportunity to pollute your associations and taint your memories of the pathetic life you led before you came to Magenta. 

“Yes, hello?” You swing the door open, eager to greet him, per usual. 

“Trick or treat, Prince(ss),” Saeran beams at you. He got very excited when he learned about this particular tradition. It’s as though the whole ordeal of trick-or-treating were designed just for him to shove in your face. 

“Okay, well, first of all, you’re not even wearing a costume,” you complain, as though that would even mean anything to Saeran. Once again, you seem to have failed to grasp the extent of the threat that he poses to you at the moment. Saeran supposes he shouldn’t be too surprised that you’ve failed to grasp something, though. 

He pushes into the room and slams the door behind him. “I said,” Saeran backs you into the nearest corner, “Trick. Or. Treat.” 

“Second,” you just continue, undaunted, per usual. “You know trick-or-treaters don’t usually come into the person’s house, right? Third, I didn’t even have my light on, so you can’t trick or treat here. I’m not participating.”

“I can go wherever I want to in this place,” Saeran argues. He feels this should already have occurred to you by now, but then again, he can’t really blame an idiot for not picking up on something. If you had any understanding at all of the world around you, then you probably wouldn’t even be at Magenta in the first place.

“Okay, that’s not how trick-or-treat works,” you grin. “What you’re describing is, like, a home invasion, or something. It seems like you just want to commit a crime, which is fine, I guess, but I just want you to know that you’re not trick-or-treating right now. You don’t even have anything to put candy in.”

“You have to give me a treat,” Saeran argues, ignoring the nonsense you’ve been spouting. He doesn’t care at all about being faithful to a tradition that doesn’t involve him. “Since you’re my toy, you have to do what I say.”

“Sure, but I didn’t even know we would be doing this,” you complain, “So I didn’t get any candy. Also, even if I wanted to, I can’t leave this room, I don’t have cell service, and the internet mysteriously only works for the RFA messenger, from which, I’ll remind you, you have cut off my access. Where would I even get candy in the first place?”

“Hm,” Saeran pretends to be contemplating the situation, as if this wasn’t a major component of his plan. “I guess you’ll just have to figure out another kind of treat to give me… unless you want to choose trick.”

“Okay,” you glance around the room, before your eyes settle on a framed photo of some dumb building. What the hell are you thinking? Saeran braces for you to try and attack him with that picture as your weapon, but you do nothing of the sort. “Aha!” You take the photo off the wall and hand it to Saeran. “Here’s your treat.” 

Saeran throws the stupid thing to the ground allowing the glass in the frame to shatter. “I guess you want me to trick you, then, prince(ss),” he purrs, leaning in so that his lips are nearly touching yours.

“Oh,” you breathe, “Okay. Sure. Go ahead and trick me.” 

Saeran doesn’t need to be told what to do as he kisses that smug look off your lips. It’s confusing and strange because he’s never done it before, but strangely and confusingly, you elect to kiss him back, taking the lead away from him and leaving his lips tingling when you pull back. Why on Earth are you treating him so gently when you know what he’s capable of? “So, just to be clear, you intone, “That was the treat you wanted, too, right?”

“Yes,” Saeran attempts to sneer at you, forcing himself to stop touching his own lips with disbelieving fingers. “Because… because… because you’re mine, and…”

“Sure,” you shake your head. “But next time, you can just ask for a kiss. That makes more sense than the whole elaborate trick-or-treat setup, right?”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Saeran orders as he turns on his heel— but regardless, he will keep your instructions in mind.

[klaudia2646]

We put up a ghost I got from Temu a while back. We just had to figure out how to connect it. It has some small lights that you can turn on and off BUT they are inside so you have to dig them out every time which is impossible so I guess we’ll try to put a spotlight cause you can’t see it at night. We did get is it Susie? Sally? From a nightmare before Christmas at Walmart yesterday as it was on sale and she’s so cute. I think we’re done with decorations for Halloween.

Poor David has been sick for probably about 3 weeks now. This year has been horrible with different viruses.

I did go to vote on Friday, get it over with, did my duty as a citizen. I’m afraid of the results of the elections. I think that Trump has a good chance of winning not because he’s more popular but because so many people don’t vote. And if he doesn’t win, some of his supporters are already saying that it’s because the elections were stolen again 🙄 either way it’ll be bad cause Trump is getting worse with age and it’s going to get revenge as he’s a sore loser. I wonder what he did when he played games as a child, did he cheat and threw tantrums when he lost? I imagine that’s what happened. Anyway, im getting anxious just thinking about the results of the elections.

I saw this picture today on Facebook and I thought it is so true. Poor David is having so many problems at work and I hate it for him cause he’s a very nice guy and plays by the rules. Unfortunately he’s working with people who have no morals and lie and throw him under the bus cause literally everything offends them. He can’t do or say anything cause everything is bad (or so they say) but it really comes down to 2 people who have started this really toxic environment, they really want to get rid of him and be in charge. I don’t see an end to this and I’m afraid that David will want to get another job and move and I am not sure I can handle another move, I’m not getting younger and it takes a lot. I get it that he keeps defending himself for things he has not done and that takes a toll on you but he shouldn’t let them win. I know it’s easy for me to say but right is right and wrong is wrong and I’m so very tired of these poisonous people. It would be nice for him to work at a nice place with nice people though.

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

So very excited your requests are finally open!

There's not much love for Vincent's on here!

With that being said I would love to see a scene with him and a plus size reader who wears glasses. Perhaps she's having an insecure day and just needs a little reassurance so he pulls her into his lap even though she is afraid she'd hurt him or takes her out somewhere special.

as a plus size woman who wears glasses, I 10000% approve!

Most of the time when you look at yourself in the mirror, you can’t see any reason why VINCENT would be attracted to you.

Are you pretty? Well, sort of. Maybe. But looking at yourself, thinking about yourself, your mind strips that beauty away for all the things you think don’t make you pretty. Your mind beats at you with two things specifically ― “If you didn’t have these glasses, you would be so beautiful. If you weren’t bigger than other women, you would be so beautiful.”

While you don’t doubt your lover when he says he finds you pretty, you just wonder exactly how he can.

On any average day, you don’t feel too badly about yourself. You go about life, you do everything you need to, and you spend time with Vincent. You’re happy, on the whole.

Sometimes, however, these thoughts just creep into your mind. (Quite obviously, and rudely, without your permission.) While you do your best not to get too terribly down, when these days happen, there must be something about it that shows in your face.

When Vincent walks out of his study and downstairs to where you’re curled up on the couch reading, there’s very little hesitation on his part. He sits down next to you, immediately setting a hand on your thigh. “My, look what I’ve found. Some kind of fairy queen, relaxing with her nose in a book.”

He’s so… silly, sometimes. What in the world does he even mean by that? You’ll never know exactly what goes on in his head. It charms you just the same, though.

“Taking a break from work?” you ask softly. One of the big giveaways, you’re sure, is that you don’t look over at him.

“Mhm. I needed to come see my darling.” He scoots himself a little closer and kisses your cheek. His free hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, the one on your thigh giving a small squeeze. “You look lovely today. As always, of course. But there’s something a bit more special about how you’re glowing today.”

What a flatterer. How can he even mean things like that…? Is he looking at the same person you see in your mirror? What is he doing?

Maybe he knows how you’re feeling today. Vincent is incredibly perceptive, and there are times he’s known what you need before you did. It’s not like he doesn’t give you such over-the-top compliments normally, of course; he just seems to be laying it on thicker than usual.

You lean into his touch anyway, closing your book. If you struggle to find where you left off later, you don’t think you’ll be complaining. “Glowing? It’s probably just the glare off my glasses. Don’t confuse yourself.”

He chuckles. You love that sound more than anything. It’s deep and rich and coats your whole being. “I’m not confused in the slightest, my dear. My eyes are as sharp as ever.”

Before you realize what he’s doing, you’ve been tugged (gingerly) into his lap. “Ah, there we are! Now I can get a close up.”

“Ah―! Vincent, what are you doing??” Regardless, you quickly bury your face against his neck. “I’m… I’m going to break one of your legs or something…”

He laughs again, then presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. If you haven’t broken any of my bones with all the other things the two of us have done, you simply sitting in my lap won’t do it.”

You feel yourself blushing all the way down your neck, and you elect not to make a response to that particular statement.

“Do tell your insecurities to quiet down, won’t you?” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. “They’re making it difficult for me to kiss my beautiful girl properly.”

[ghouldump]

https://www.tumblr.com/ghouldump/766640228765253632?source=share

girl, after the election results, I been struggling to enjoy my hobbies and just life in general, like I feel like I’m in survival mode right now ugh. I been tryna write, tryna read fanfic, tryna watch my shows, but I just can’t. I keep struggling to immerse myself back into anything. Which is crazy because three days ago, I was FULLY immersed.

I was so pissed off at work today because my coworkers and bosses were smiling and laughing and my problem causing brain was thinking… ain’t shit funny rn. There’s nothing to laugh or smile about rn, I don’t know why these people laughing. lol I’ve been such a bitch.

How are you managing to keep writing and keep creating? I try to put pen to paper and then remember about the upcoming book ban and the upcoming censoring of certain types of media such as fanfic (which is overwhelmingly queer and obviously involves explicit content) and all momentum leaves me. And think about it. IWTV is the literal definition of queer… they’re not gonna allow us to watch it once he outlaws all queer media. I could be reading a fanfic and then all of a sudden think about how this might be the last time I read it freely online before that man’s inauguration. I’m just so… ugh.

Yeah, I agree that everything is going to shit, but- I’m trying to find the proper way to articulate my stance. I’ve been through hell all my life, things I would never want anyone to go through, but through healing, I have been able to become…relaxed. I live day to day, we can't think about tomorrow because it has a mind of its own. Hell, we’re not even promised a tomorrow, no one is.

There is nothing we can do (I mean make sure you vote during midterms!!!) but there is nothing we can really do to stop the government as ordinary citizens, and so all we can do is keep living. The book ban, for now, will be only for schools and public libraries (not taking away from the fact that it is still terrible).

I love reading, I love writing, I love fanfiction, and I LOVE IWTV and I won't stop what I love, because of circumstances that are to come until the platform is completely gone, until my home library is gone, until my pencil, phone, and computer is torn from my hands.

Stay educated, but remember to live for today and appreciate today, because we don't know tomorrow. The future is scary, but if all of this is gone in a few weeks, a few months, few years, I want to look back and know that I enjoyed sharing my craft with others who have loved it just as much before it was all over.

I hope this helps, I understand and hear how you feel 🩷

[odinsblog]

Something I need to get off my chest, for old followers and new:

I do not give a single solitary fuck about communism

If communism blew up and died tomorrow, I would not give one shit about it 🥱

If “communism” is your end all be all about what’s right and what’s wrong in the world, then do us both a favor and block me right now. No hard feelings, okay?

And for anyone wondering: no, I don’t give a shit about capitalism, and definitely not neoliberalism either

Look, sooner or later you have GOT to understand something: some people (neoliberals) get all bent out shape if you aren’t constantly falling over yourself to kiss the ass of whoever the current Democratic president is. That ain’t me. When Biden or Clinton or whoever is wrong, I will hold their feet to the fire and at least try to them accountable (see: Biden Title 42)

And when capitalism fucks up (lol, that’s any day of the week that ends in the letter Y), then I will call that shit out too

Sooner or later, ALL of that shit fucks up. All of it. All of it

None of it is beyond critique

If you think your special little rhubarb (communism, capitalism, religion, libertarianism, etc etc etc) is magically the only one that is perfect and good and right all the time, then you’re just like a little baby who still believes that Santa lives on the North Pole. Please grow tf up

But I am very specifically calling out communism today because several long time mutuals lose their shit whenever I don’t kiss Putin’s ass, or when I don’t blame NATO for Putin invading a sovereign nation that wasn’t attacking Russia, wasn’t in NATO, and wasn’t even applying for membership into NATO when Putin decided to attack them

Is America wrong for all the dirt its done all around the planet? Fuck. yes. Does America bad = Russia good? FUCK NO

Look, everyone has their own personal coda; their guiding principles; their “religion,” their rhubarb. For some, it’s a blind, sycophantic inability to understand or acknowledge that simply being marginally better than Trump doesn’t automatically make centrist Democrats above being held accountable (it’s our job as citizens to always demand better from whoever our elected representatives are—they work for us goddammit)

For other sycophants, it’s a rabid inability to call out capitalism and/or Christianity

And for others still, it’s communism

I guess my problem is, EYE don’t measure how “good” something is by how “communist” it is—I measure it by how much good it does without burying poor people, without harming Black & Brown people, without hurting women (trans or otherwise), without vilifying foreigners, and without burning LGBTQ people (the way Russia and America do)

If you can’t understand that, then your particular brand of blind fanaticism (your rhubarb) is communism, and you are no different from the VBNMW, Blue MAGA sycophants who go completely ape shit whenever you say something even slightly unflattering about politicians who happen to wear the letter “D” behind their name—see where that got us??

You’re no different. You just have a slightly different rhubarb

Communism is NOT my fucking measuring stick. I don’t have communism on the brain, and I sure as fuck don’t have capitalism on the brain either

I love Black people, Brown people , poor people, immigrants, asylum seekers, women, the LGBTQ community, democracy, equality, justice and freedom

And dassit ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I’m on the side of the little guy and the underdog

So anyway, fuck communism, fuck capitalism, fuck “Christianity” and fuck all the other little bullshit unimportant distinctions you far too rigidly use to decide if someone is “good” instead of just looking to see if they’re actually doing good or not

Some of you good little “communists” couldn’t even be bothered to speak up about Brittney Griner because you didn’t want to look bad or say anything bad about Vladimir Putin’s raggedy ass. Lol. You guys suck!

And no, this isn’t me taking a right wing turn like Cenk and TYT (or like Jimmy Dore, or Glenn Greenwald, or any number of the other “previously” progressive media types who are re-aligning themselves with conservatives)

In 2016 I had to break ties with people and bloggers who turned out to be dogged Blue MAGA sycophants, and today I’m fed up with people who can’t go more than two minutes without signaling how “communist” they are 🙄

Sorry, but that shit don’t get my dick hard

(And for added clarity: Republicans and Libertarians, go fuck yourselves with a rusty chainsaw)

If this post makes you mad, then here ya go

</end rant>

[topguncortez]

G, I love you, but you are well and truly missing all the important points that people are screaming in your face.

You take birth control right? Kiss that goodbye. You have bodily autonomy? Seeya later. You have the freedom to vote, drive, have access to a bank account, work for the government ect etc. it’s all in jeopardy far more than you seem to understand.

I don’t understand how you are being so flippant when you give off the impression that’s you’re a very educated person. I urge you to take a moment to consider that while your opinion on respecting family and friends that disagree on politics and policies is important, it’s also incredibly important for you to recognise that this decision is far more than “just politics”

You and many other women in America right now have a target on your back now more than ever. And this directly affects so many aspects of foreign affairs it’s not funny. Please don’t not care about what’s happening. You need to care and you need to educate yourself better. Because you’re not hitting the marks you think you are.

This is with so much respect and love.

i understand the point. i live in Iowa, we passed a six week abortion ban almost as soon as roe was overturned. i know what trump wants to put into law. i had read through and watched videos on Project 2025. but i also know that politicians say a lot, but don’t always act on it.

for me, i don’t feel like getting upset is going to change anything. i understand why people are upset. but i know that i can’t really do anything about it until the next election. i can educate myself and share things for others, but i can’t change anything today at this moment. and i never said this is “just politics”, im well aware that things are going to change. but i can’t do any of the changing.

i’m not trying to hit any marks. i’m just saying how i feel about this, and it’s really that i don’t know how to feel. if anything, i don’t really feel anything about it.

[aces-and-angels]

Title: How Magnus Became Partner

A/N: another day in the windverse -this time with @saibug1022's blorbo, magnus bishop standing front and center. i've loved learning everything there is to know about this character and hope yall will enjoy reading their story as well 🖤 @choicesficwriterscreations

Characters: OC: Magnus Bishop (he/him), OC: Wind Velez (she/he/they), Gabe Ricci

Summary: Thea Vaughn became a household name after coming forward with allegations against her former boss, none other than Senator Austin Morris. Magnus Bishop, a head-strong, underappreciated junior associate at Jensen Legal, goes against the firm's wishes to take on her case.

Warning(s): Language

Word Count: 3.4K

read below the cut or...

AO3 link

---

Jensen Legal; Cincinnati, Ohio

“Angus, could you be a dear and take these files over to Debbie in finance?” 

Magnus groaned inwardly, barely suppressing an eyeroll that ached to be unleashed. Three years as an associate, yet no one remembered his name nor had the decency to delegate menial tasks like this to one of the many paralegals on staff. He took a quick breath, unclenching his fists hidden underneath his desk before taking the folders with a sickly sweet smile. “Sure thing, Magnet.” 

“Uh, it’s Margret, actually.” 

Magnus gasped, feigning shock. “Oh, my mistake. I’ll make sure to remember that for next time.” He didn’t spare her a single glance as he marched her precious files over to Debbie in fucking finance. Yet another piss-poor, sunshine-y day in Cincinnati. 

There was no doubt in his mind that he’d be swimming in cash if he got a dollar for every time he wanted to set fire to the firm. His restraint was tied exclusively to needing to make rent, not for any supposed comradery the firm’s slogan encouraged to promote. ‘Jensen Legal, where family is our priority.’ Such a priority that the founder’s son was named partner after only six months on the job. Richard Jensen, or as Magnus liked to call him, a fucking dick. 

The walk to the financial wing was short-lived, leaving only the mundane walk back to his office. A few secretaries he recognized sent him a small wave, occupied with fielding an endless stream of phone calls for their supervisors. Even if no one bothered to know his name, it was impossible for Magnus to walk the halls unnoticed. Standing at an impressive 6’4,” he easily towered over the majority of his coworkers. Warm, dark skin clashed with an endless sea of white, cold and unforgiving. Seen, but still very much alone. 

Loud chatter filtered from the break-room, stealing his attention away from his trek. “Turn it up, Craig. I can’t hear anything,” a shrill voice complained.  

“I’m trying! This damn remote– oh, I think I got it. Here-”

Magnus stood at the back of the crowd, eyes glued to the flat-screen television mounted high on the wall. ‘SOON TO SPEAK: SENATOR AUSTIN MORRIS’ lined the bottom of the broadcast with a reporter at the scene. 

“Yes- we’ve just received word that Senator Morris is scheduled to hold a press conference to address recent allegations of sexual misconduct made by Thea Vaughn. Ms. Vaughn is known to have worked for-” 

Even with his hearing aids, Magnus strained to listen to the reporter as a wave of murmurs from the room clouded his ears. 

“Do you think he actually-”

“-likely. That slut just wants-”

“-heard she got charged with a-” 

Frustrated, he pulled out his phone to search for a live stream, tapping the first link listed. The website lagged for a moment before the video began to buffer. He turned on the closed captions and watched as Senator Morris made his way to the podium. His demeanor was solemn but assured as he adjusted the mic to land right at his chin. 

“Good afternoon, Cincinnati. I stand before you today not as an elected official but as a father to two incredible children. Husband to my beautiful wife, Alison. And son to Jane and Peter Morris.”

Big fucking whoop, Magnus scoffed to himself. He watched the tell-all interview with Thea Vaughn. Anyone with a functioning brain could see that she was the wronged party. If not through her words, then from the hint of terror that marked her dusty blue eyes as she retold her story. Though perhaps it was too generous to assume such intelligence from his peers. 

“I’m sure many of you have read the awful headlines circulating online. Slanderous words printed right by my name. Cheater. Violent. Abusive. I’m here to set the record straight. Yes, Ms. Vaughn was a former employee of mine, but the allegations brought forth by her couldn’t be further from the truth,” Senator Morris spoke, putting emphasis on the word ‘truth.’

Loud whispers filled the air. 

“-so brave of him-”

“-must be awf-”

“-knew he couldn’t have-” 

Magnus pulled at the small ridge hooked behind his ear with the tip of his nail, shutting off his aids completely. The longer he watched the senator speak, the hotter his blood ran. Austin Morris, ever the devout Christian, quoted the Bible to turn Thea’s allegations on their head. 

“Love thy neighbor- and that’s what I did, folks. I opened my doors to a troubled woman. Shared a meal with her at the same table along with my wife and kids. But generosity can only go so far when dealing with someone struggling with addiction-”

Magnus’ expression crumpled with disdain. Addiction? She was charged with illegal possession of marijuana at sixteen, not found shooting up heroin in an alley.

“-my own personal funds, I am happy to donate $10,000 to rehabilitation centers located all throughout the state. I hope this money will aid those in a way I failed to do so with Thea. May she one day be guided back to the light.”

“Jesus Christ,” Magnus scoffed at his blatant display of gaslighting. Enough giving this waste of air his time, he had work to do. Shutting off his phone, he peeled out of the breakroom, ready to bury his frustrations in paperwork. 

—

A week passed since Austin Morris’ media junket finally came to a close. Everywhere Magnus looked, that prick was there, flashing his pearly veneers to the nation with shallow charitable gestures that surely cost him less than the price of one of his luxury Italian sports cars. The masses ate it up like candy. Senator Morris’ reputation was not only repaired, but improved. The latest polls showed a 35% increase in his approval rating. Thea Vaughn, however, was a different story.

Her interviews had been reduced to crude memes- the most popular one being a gif of her breaking down mid-interview with the hashtag ‘fake bitch’ on the bottom. Any sympathy shown online towards her was effectively silenced by an army of Morris’ fiercest supporters.

Raindrops clung to the window panes, remnants of the harsh downpour that recently settled into a light drizzle. But inside, a different storm brewed. One that involved an extra box of discovery and task sheet not meant for him, but his acting supervisor: Richard (Dick) Jensen.

“Make sure you file that subpoena by 4PM. Dad’s gonna chew me out if this shit gets delayed again.”

“Go file it yourself. My shift ends in twenty minutes,” Magnus said flatly, pushing the file back towards him. 

“Says who?”

“My schedule after you approved my early leave three weeks ago. I’ve got an appointment.” 

“Reschedule it. We’re understaffed today,” Richard explained, barely glancing up from his phone- too preoccupied with whoever he’s texting on the other line. 

“Bullshit. No one called for any temps today.”

Richard’s brow arched up. “And how do you know that? Actually- don’t answer. I’ve got a client to schmooze over beers at Jimmy’s, so get to- ah shit, not again.”

“What is it?”

“This Vaughn chick sent another request for a consultation.”

Magnus perked up slightly at the name. “Thea Vaughn?” 

“Who else?” Richard answered rudely, as if it was that obvious. Magnus brushed aside his tone, too curious about Thea’s meeting to care. 

“You met with her already? What’d you say?”

“What every other firm in the city has- her case is not worth taking.”

A flash of anger tore through Magnus. “Why the hell not?” 

“Because we’re not looking to foot the bill for some petty charity case that’s already on the losing side. Austin Morris has the media in his back pocket and the resources to bury anyone who touches him in a mountain of legal fees. Anyone with eyes can see that.” 

“Anyone with eyes can see that Morris is full of shit,” Magnus spat back. 

“He could be buried in it for all I care. Look, I don’t have time to listen to you preach on your soapbox. Just send Vaughn back out the door when she arrives. And file that subpoena,” Richard ordered, already walking towards the elevators. 

“Dick,” he swore under his breath, begrudgingly picking up the phone to move his appointment. He checked his schedule pinned on the wall. Friday the 23rd was marked as his day off. Hopefully Dr. Miller could see him then. 

He was halfway through Richard’s to-do list when the light mounted on his desk flashed red, a signal that someone was at his door. He glanced up from his work and saw Tina, one of Jensen Legal’s secretaries. She was on the older side. Mid 50s if Magnus had to guess. Streaks of gray poked through her auburn hair, smile lines creased the pale skin on her face, and she always wore the most ridiculous neon green jumpers. Out of everyone at the firm, Magnus tolerated her the most. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Bishop.” 

“It’s alright, Tina. What is it?” 

“Thea Vaughn is in the lobby waiting for her consultation with Mr. Jensen. I already told her he’d be out of the office for the rest of the day, but she’s refusing-”

“Send her in,” Magnus interrupted her spiel. There was a rare opportunity right in front of him and he’d be damned if he let it slip through the cracks. Was it reckless? Definitely. Did he care? Not one bit.  

Tina’s eyes widened slightly. “But I was given explicit instructions by-”

“Di- I mean- Richard told me the same thing, Tina. Don’t worry, I’m just gonna make it easier for her to want to leave by entertaining a meeting,” he reassured, hoping she couldn’t sense the double meaning in his words. Fuck what Dick wanted. Magnus would do anything if it meant he got to stick it to that pompous, holier than thou politician.

“Alright… I’ll send her over to you shortly.” 

“Thank you.”

Not five minutes passed before his door opened once more, this time with Thea Vaughn at his doorstep. Seeing her in person as opposed to on the television or online forums was surreal. Magnus thought that after weeks of ridicule her demeanor would be meek, but she proved to be anything but.

“So I guess they pushed me over to you. Who are you, one of Jensen’s paralegals?” 

“Junior Associate,” Magnus corrected, brushing off her snide comment. Unlike Dick, she had a legitimate reason to be scorned. “Please have a seat, Ms. Vaughn.”

“Ooh, manners,” she praised mockingly, sliding into the seat across from his desk. With her this close, Magnus took note of the flecks of gray that swam in her eyes like tiny storm clouds. “Is this the part where you tell me to take my business elsewhere?” 

“No, it’s not. I want to take your case.”

Thea straightened in her seat, clearly surprised by his answer. “Wait- really? You’re not messing with me?”

“I want to see Morris behind bars just as much as you, Ms. Vaughn.” 

“Thea,” she said, more at ease than she had been when she first entered the room. “I’m sorry for being a bitch. After the sixth suit laughed me out of their office, I stopped trying to be nice.” 

“Believe me, I understand the urge. More than half of those idiots outside drive me up the fucking wall on a daily basis.” 

She snorted. “How do you cope?” 

“Reluctantly.”

“That’s fair. So, how does this whole thing go? Will you be working with Mr. Jensen?”

Magnus sucked in a breath, trying to find the right way to phrase his clear violation of Dick’s wishes. “Mr. Jensen has… delegated anything regarding your case to me. So, you’ll mainly be interacting with me throughout this process,” he answered. It wasn’t a lie. He did want Magnus to take care of it.  

“Oh- okay. Um, I’m sure he already told you that I can’t-” 

“He did. I can offer my services pro bono. You won’t have to pay anything.”

Thea let out an astonished laugh, Magnus’ words grounding her in the present. “Wow. This is… wow.”

"Haven’t heard those words from anyone else, huh?” 

“No, I haven’t,” she confirmed. “Thank you, uh-”

“Magnus.” He reached out to offer his hand.

“Thank you, Magnus. Really.” Her hand was small in his, but felt just as strong. As if a new surge of life had entered her veins. 

“Thank me after I win your case. Also- when you walk out of here, act pissed.”

Thea’s brows furrowed. “Why do I need to do that?” 

“There are certain people who know how this meeting was supposed to turn out. We need to keep up appearances,” he explained, side-stepping from the full truth of the matter. But Thea caught on to the reality of the situation.

“You were supposed to say no to me.” Her words were not accusatory, only looking to confirm what she already knew.  

“I was told to escort you out of the building, which I intend to do,” Magnus stated, rising from his seat. “You can either take your chances with me or go try to find another lawyer who is willing to give you the time of day.” 

There was a moment of silence shared between them- a beat where they each bore into the other, searching for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, Thea nodded. “Alright then. I’m in.”

—

Keeping Thea’s caseload under wraps proved to be more of a challenge than Magnus originally anticipated. Half his energy alone was spent on finding moments throughout the day to sneak in time to pour over her files. He couldn’t pass any grunt work on anyone else- so it was him who logged in the discovery, researched for any precedent that favored his case, and dealt with the arduous process of filing for a hearing. 

It worked for all of two weeks.

Dick stormed into his office, fury etched deep into his features. If he wasn’t as royally fucked as he was in that moment, Magnus would’ve reveled in seeing the veins bulge on Dick’s forehead. “Bishop, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” 

“Writing memos for Stanley’s case.” His unbothered attitude only enraged Dick further.

“Cut the shit, Magnus. I know you went around my direct order and took on that bitch’s case.”

Fuck. Act calm and bluff. Magnus schooled his face into a neutral expression, raising a single accusatory eyebrow at his supervisor. “Do you have proof? Because right now all you’re doing is throwing empty accusations at my face.” 

“You want proof? Fine. Here’s your fucking proof,” Richard snarled, getting right in Magnus’ face. He met his fury head on, refusing to give Dick the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. “Pack your shit. You’re fired.”

Magnus sneered. “You can’t fire me. Only managing partners have that authority.” 

A sinister grin spread on Dick’s face as he slapped something down on his desk. “Consider me their proxy.” Magnus glanced down at the document. His bravado vanished as he read what it was. A notice of termination, effective immediately. Next to it, a fountain pen. 

“What? You really thought no one would notice an uptick in your non-billables? Franklin wanted to leave you high and dry, but dad figured if word got out of your sudden… departure, it would reflect poorly on the firm. Not that I really give a shit. Now sign your severance package and get the fuck out.” With that, Dick slammed the door behind him.

Frozen, all Magnus could do was stare at the papers in front of him. He expected to be a lot of things- angry, vindictive- but numb was certainly not on his list. Maybe his mind had canceled out the whirlwind of emotions that were flooding his system- the first stages of grief coiled so tightly around his chest he no longer felt a thing. But all the denial in the world couldn’t change what was written in the fine print. 

His body moved on its own accord. An empty box slowly filled with the few belongings he kept in office: a handful of spare batteries for his hearing aids, his coffee mugs, and a framed photo of him and older sister, Vivian. Shit. He’d probably have to move in with her and her family. Figure out how to terminate his lease early- hire movers- find a new job- 

Wait. 

It dawned on him all at once. No more getting cast aside for promotions. No more shitty coffee from the breakroom or stupid requests from Magnet. And best of all- no more Dick and his receding hairline hidden with an equally awful side-part. 

The laugh that bursted out from Magnus’ lips was borderline hysterical. Anyone watching from the outside would think he’d gone mad. No more to-do lists, no more Dick Jensen. No more listening to generic hold music, no more Dick Jensen. No more bland chicken at company potlucks, no more Dick Jensen. No more Dick Fucking Jensen! 

Magnus scrawled his signature on the dotted line, officially marking the end of his terrible time at Jensen Legal. There was an undeniable spring in his step as he walked towards the elevators. All eyes were on him, an amalgamation of confused pity and intrigue pointed his way. And he couldn’t care less. 

The first thing Magnus did was drive to Raven’s. Hours later, he walked out with twisted locs landing just past his shoulders, its tips a vibrant shade of midnight blue. It was the first time in years where he genuinely felt like himself. With that out of the way, there was only one thing left to do- find a way to stick it to Austin Morris. 

—

McGraw Byrne, one month later… 

“Thank you for your time, Niel. We’ll be in touch.” Gabe shook hands with the latest person on the list of potential hires for McGraw Byrne. He maintained a poised smile until the doors shut behind him before letting out a tired exhale. The search for new partners had gone just as well as he expected. Which meant it wasn’t going well at all. Any quality candidates were most likely snatched up months ago during the summer hiring season, leaving a less than stellar pool to choose from. 

He was skimming through yet another resume when Wind bursts through the doors, newspaper in hand. “Put that file down- I think I found just the person we’re looking for.” A black and white photo of Austin Morris leaving court took up the majority of the front page. The article below detailed the Ohio-native senator’s fall from grace after being charged on multiple counts of assault, trespassing, and solicitation. 

“Is there a lawyer with an ad listed in that paper?” 

“You’re looking at ‘em.”

Gabe stared at his colleague, dumbfounded. “I’m sorry, but how is another criminal the person we’ve been looking for?” 

“He’s not- the guy who put him behind bars is. Anyone who can take out someone as powerful as Senator Morris has to be incredibly talented,” Wind explained with barely contained excitement, practically bouncing on their heels. 

“They’re also probably backed by a powerful firm. Not someone looking for a job.” 

“See- I thought the same thing at first, but then I looked closer into all the lawyers involved in Vaughn’s case. The person she hired wasn’t associated with any law firm in any of the articles I found.” 

“So?”

“Don’t you think that's weird? Any respectable firm would be dying for this level of publicity.” 

Gabe’s eyes widened. “God, you’re right. So you’re saying-”

“Whoever did this was operating on their own? Yes, yes I am. And I think I just found him online.” Wind set their phone on the table, its screen on a LinkedIn profile. Gabe read through his credentials. 

 Magnus Bishop. 29 years old. Graduated summa cum laude from the Mortiz College of Law at Ohio State University. Work experience: junior associate at Jensen Legal. 

“We can’t take him.” 

Wind’s face dropped. “Why not? He’s perfect!” 

“He’s only worked as an associate. We need someone with more experience,” Gabe reasoned.

“Gabe- no one else we’ve seen today holds a candle to this guy. So what if he’s an associate? Sadie plucked me right out of a civil court hearing in Nebraska for citing tree law. Magnus Bishop took out a freaking senator. Tell me that doesn’t at least warrant a phone call to see if he’d be interested in coming to work for McGraw Byrne.”

Wind, always the one to root for the underdog, held an unwavering optimism in their gaze. Gabe sighed, having no choice but to yield to its intensity. “Alright, let’s give Mr. Bishop a call.”

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Nothing and Everything - Part 8

Summary: Certain times of the year are harder than others. This is the first year where they have all been present to face the memories of all the trauma. How can they come together when they each have their own traumas to face?

Pairings: Gen fic (they love Layla and she loves them)

Warnings: Heavy dissociation, Mentions of child abuse, some mentions of violence, Depression, mentions of self harm, PTSD, mentions of hospitalization.

Word Count: 5299

Part Eight: It's time to communicate. Or at least try. Why can they only get part of the story? What do they have to do to come to an understanding?

Previous Chapter HERE

------

“I’m supposed to be happy. To be cheerful, aren’t I? To be this shining beacon of light in the dark.” Steven gazed up at the gray sky, feeling the wind shift as it rustled through the trees and the birds moved as if following the sun. 

He closed his eyes and let the last of the warm rays bathe his face before they faded behind the clouds. 

Today was the day. The day when he had become we. Perhaps that was what it really meant. The birth of a brother. When I became us and when mine became ours. 

The loss of a brother, when everything became nothing. 

Now here they existed in this nothing desperately trying to make it work. 

Steven felt like a child that had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It was hard for him to admit that he had done wrong when he was doing what he felt was necessary. It had never crossed his mind that it had the potential to hurt them. 

Yet, he had still kept it a secret and done it without asking. Perhaps a part of him had been afraid of being told no.

Marc had been so distant lately and hardly around. Steven had felt he was free to make that call. He had not thought that anything about the situation might trigger Marc out. 

You are lucky I didn’t answer the phone.

Jake had chastised him, making him feel like a small child, as Jake cleaned up the mess. The mess being Marc. 

He watched memories be swept away like so much dirt on the floor. The papers were pushed into a top drawer of his desk and locked away. Jake had elected not to dispose of the past, but had made it very clear that if Steven were to look at it, he had better do it when Marc wasn’t around. 

Why do you have to be difficult? You don’t need to know these things. These things don’t involve you. They aren’t your timeline.

But they did. They involved Marc and Jake. They involved the body. They involved the making of them. 

“What does involve me? What history do I have?” Steven had been angry. Demanding to know his place in how they got here. 

You have every happy thought and moment of peace. 

The message on the board was for them all. Talk. How did they talk? How was it possible to communicate when Steven sat alone in the light and the other two hid in the shadows?

Steven had asked Layla, much like a child asking for permission, if he could go outside on a walk through the park. She had hesitated, offering to go with him. “I need this. Please?” 

She had nodded, saying that she couldn’t keep them caged up forever. Perhaps a test of her fragile trust. Steven promised not to run. 

How could he run when the problem was very much a part of him? 

“We can’t heal if we don’t know what we are healing from.” Steven sighed. “I’m not some house plant that you feed and water and put in the sun so that it can look nice.” 

You are not the one with the trauma. You are here to support us. Jake argued. 

“Presumptuous, don’t you think?” Steven shot back. “My trauma and your trauma may look different, but they are still traumas. Bad memories can’t and shouldn’t always just be covered up!” 

I’m sorry you feel bad. I really am. Jake sounded tired. We aren’t ready to all sit here anguished in memories that just hurt. You saw what happens when it becomes too much. 

“So I’m just supposed to never be sad? To be upset or overwhelmed? That’s a lot of pressure, don’t you think?” Steven hunched as he continued his walk through the park. His favorite oversized sweater kept the gusts of cool air from chilling him, even in the warm afternoon rays of the sun. Summer was ending but there was still some fight left in it. 

So what do you want to know? Do you want to know how many people we killed in the service? Do you want to know that we weren’t always the good guys? Do you want to know how many detentions we got or how we flunked out of chemistry? Do you want to know how to most effectively reload a gun when under fire? How to avoid getting stabbed in hand to hand combat? Maybe you want to know the best way to defend yourself against a belt buckle! Or do you want just the basics on how to pretend to be good so the psychiatrist will let you out of solitary after you tried to escape!

“Have you ever erased my memories?” Steven paused to let a happy family walk past him on the path. Two seemingly loving parents doting on their young child. Would it stay that way forever? The child had yet to disappoint them. The father had yet to look the other way and slowly disappear into a silent background. The mother had yet to fall into alcoholic dependence that both distanced her from them all and also sparked a violent fire that would burn them. 

You know the answer to that.

“No. I don’t.” Steven watched the family disappear down the path. “I know the fake memories. Those are mine. Those were my coping mechanisms. I’m dealing with that. I’m sorting it out and I’m dealing with the fact that I’m…” 

Not real. Made up. A fictive.

It didn’t matter how many times Marc and Layla both tried to reassure him that it didn’t matter. That Marc hadn’t made him up. It still didn’t take away from the knowledge that he now had that he was a person born from a desperate need to be someone and something else. It didn’t take away from the fact that Marc had a history and Jake was his own person from the start. 

You are Steven Grant. You are a man with your own wants and desires and stubborn ass beliefs. Jake sighed softly. I have never taken away your memories. I’d made up stories to explain why you suddenly woke up in Bosnia or Pakistan, and you accepted them happily because you were not ready for the truth. You once woke up in the middle of a gun fight and fought me when I tried to put you back to sleep. You won’t remember that because it didn’t fit into your narrative. I never had anything to do with how you handled your memories. I only take away what Marc can’t handle. 

“Dreams.” Steven nodded. “The feeling of restlessness and travel. It’s what I told myself.” 

His own coping device had always been to brush it off and continue on. On and on and on until it was too much not to look away from. Until Marc had crumbled at his feet and Steven had literally tripped over him. 

“Why didn’t you stop it? When Marc went back for…For Mum’s funeral. Why did you let it get that bad? Why let me out? Why did you let me wander off with our life and away from Layla?” Steven gripped his sleeves as he found a bench and sat on it. “Why let me wander into that gun fight in that village?” 

Jake was silent a moment and Steven could feel him shifting inside. 

I was…compromised. 

“Compromised? What does that mean?” 

When she died. I… went to sleep. I woke up in the Alps. 

Steven looked up as if he might see Jake standing before him, eyes on the ground and hat down low to hide his face. “You went dormant?” 

Not to that extent… But close to it. I didn’t think I was helping. With her dead it felt like I wasn’t needed. That maybe I was hurting things. That maybe we could get our lives back together and just be… normal. 

“I was dormant then too.” Steven looked down at his hands. “I know I wasn’t around. Years… There are so many years I have missing. You tried to give the live back to Marc. You didn’t think he would break down and try to give the life to me.” 

We all make mistakes, Steven. Was it so wrong of me to think that without me or you that maybe if we were one person that things might be easier? Marc obviously had the same thought with a slightly different twist. 

“Bloody hell.” Steven closed his eyes and listened to the wind rustle the still green trees. Soon their leaves would turn and fall. Bare limbs reaching for a sun that sat too far away and indifferent to care for them. “We are a mess, aren’t we?” 

It was nice for a while, wasn’t it? Just you out here living… Doing normal things… Being one person….

“I’m not one person!” Steven snapped loudly and winced as a jogger gave them plenty of space as they went by. 

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m not one person. I was given the stage without a script! I was alone and shouldn’t have been! I should have known what was going on and I didn’t! Some of that is my fault but you both left me drowning and did nothing!” 

I’m not here for you! Jake snapped back. My purpose was Marc! Not you! Every time I ran was because of him! Every time I had to protect us it was because of him, not you! How was I supposed to keep an eye on you when every time I looked away from him we died! 

“Try looking at yourself for a change, Jake!” Steven stood up, angry and wanting to stand his ground. “You’re a part of this life too! Try living in it!” 

I DID LIVE IN IT! 

Steven huffed for a moment then a thought hit him hard. “Did Marc go dormant before?” 

Two years. Maybe three. I was primary host. We were still very young. 

“Was I around?” Steven sat back down. 

A bit. You went to synagogue and major holidays. You were the good one. Marc started to dissociate so much that he became a problem. He couldn’t run the life and you were too…you. We were in hiding, Steven. This isn’t normal. You have to understand that. A little british boy has no place in a hispanic jewish family in Chicago.

Steven nodded. He understood the concept of masking but the thought to actually do it always made him feel ill. It was just one more thing Jake had been forced to do in order to protect them. 

I had to take over. Marc is missing those years. He faded so hard and fast that I thought he might disappear all together. 

“Like the others?” Steven probed gently. A suspicion that he had long had ever since he started looking into their condition. 

Jake quietly and carefully checked to make sure Marc was nowhere near. Steven could feel him locking doors and shuttering the place till it was like they were both enclosed in some sort of tomb. 

Yes. There were others. They came and went. Some split, some just showed up. They never stayed long. There was one that only showed up to eat since Marc went on a hunger strike once. They all had specific purposes. I can’t tell you how many. I don’t know. There was one that was obsessed with space. Another fictive maybe? I’m not really sure. It’s been a long time and they didn’t make it past our teen years.

“We really are just a small system, aren’t we? Is it still just the three of us? I want to know.” Steven didn’t mind if it was. What he did mind was the thought that maybe there was someone else inside that was in pain and he wasn’t helping them. Someone hiding or unaware that was just as lost as he had been. 

As far as I’m aware… It’s just us three. I check now and then. 

“Were they your friends? Do you miss them?” Steven couldn’t imagine having other head mates that just disappeared. The thought scared him suddenly. It was possible to lose purpose and fade away. What if Marc really did leave one day? What if Jake left? Would he ever no longer be needed and go like the others? 

The space guy was kinda cool. Jake smiled and Steven could feel a wave of sadness come off of Jake. They were not as well defined or developed as us. We got along and functioned as well as we could. I think maybe if things become as bad as they were, there is always the possibility for others to show up. 

“But as long as we can hold down the fort it will be just us three.” Steven sighed. “I want to know these things, Jake. I want to know our life. I want to know how we lived and what hurts. I want to be able to know why I’m sad and how not to make Marc spiral. I want to know how to help you.” 

I don’t need help. I need cooperation. We have to find our flow again. I can’t protect us if we’re all freaking out!

“Welcome to denial, Jake.” Steven laughed softly. “You aren’t immune to pain and hurt. We’ve all got trauma and some form of PTSD. I think you’ve been ignoring your own pain for too long.” 

Jake made a grumbling sound but he better than to argue this with Steven. 

They sat in silence for a moment then they felt a nudge. 

It felt strange and Steven felt himself shift as if he were floating outside the body. Marc had entered the room and things had gotten so bad that their communication suddenly felt like they were yelling across a vast field against the wind. 

Steven gripped the sleeves of his sweater and brought them to his face, covering his mouth with the soft fabric. He could smell their aftershave and a hint of Layla’s shampoo. There was a faint smell of their morning coffee and toast. He felt the light fabric, soft and warm brushing his cheeks and lips. 

It was comforting and brought him back down. 

They sat still, all three holding on. After numerous tries, Steven at last shook his head and stood up. 

“Sorry mates. It was worth a try, right? Maybe three is a bit much right now. I’m going to head back. Can I talk to Marc?” Steven waited patiently while Jake faded back and the field between them all disappeared. 

He could feel Marc shifting behind him. It felt like so long ago when speaking only happened through visual effort and control was fought for. He missed the moment of fluid switching when they were so close that they could share thoughts and motions. 

Now, a wedge sat between them and there was frustration, hurt, and confusion. 

Steven continued on his walk through the park. He looked at the sun burnt grass, the reaching flowers, the bees on missions, and the children that ran without care. 

He paused to watch a game of cricket, lamenting on how Marc and Jake didn’t understand the sport at all. Not that he understood baseball. Not that any of them had tried to understand the other… 

“We’re really shit at this.” He laughed. 

I’m glad you find it all so funny. Marc muttered. 

“Laugh or cry, Marc.” Steven smiled. “I’m tired of crying today.” 

Did you cry today? 

“One of us did.” Steven was starting to accept that perhaps he was the emotional medium between them all, if that was even a thing to be. He could feel their overflow of sadness, anger, and often brutal self hatred. He now understood them to be not his own, but it still affected him. 

Sorry. Marc apologized, though Steven wasn’t so sure it was Marc who had been the one to start the tears. He was always taking the blame. Always ready to assume the worst of himself. 

Steven shook his head. “I know what day it is. It’s okay to shed a few tears.” 

Marc nodded, his lips pulled thin. Was he ready? Would he ever be ready? 

“Do you think Randall would have liked London?” He continued on, leaving behind the cricket match. 

I don’t know. Maybe. 

“I think he would have liked the museum.” Steven couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to bring a brother to the museum. Pointing at the pictures and picking what they liked best about them. Would he have liked Egyptology? Maybe he would have been more into natural science and collected rocks.

I think he liked anything he was given. He was just a kid. I don’t know what he would have liked now. Marc sounded a bit short tempered. It was hard for him to imagine who Randall would have been. 

“Did you like things?” Steven changed directions quickly. “When you were little, I mean. What things did you obsess over?” 

They stopped walking and looked up at the sky, watching the clouds. 

I don’t know. I don’t remember. 

Steven thought back to their bedroom. The one in his memories and the one he saw in Marc’s memories from the afterlife. 

“Did you like cars? Space? Egypt?” 

No. Jake likes cars. You like Egypt. I think we got a telescope at some point but I don’t remember ever using it.

A warning flashed across his mind, some sort of signal from Jake to stop pressing on their childhood. 

So he was still watching. 

“Yeah. I don’t remember much from our childhood either. Guess it wasn’t that important, huh?” Steven turned up the path and settled into a comfortable stroll back towards the entrance to the park. “Do you hate Dad?” 

They stopped walking and Steven felt his legs stiffen on their own. He wasn’t sure if it was Jake or Marc. 

He stubbornly pushed on. “You were angry I talked to him. I don’t understand why. I have so few memories of him and I don’t know how he fits into my life. Am I not supposed to figure that out?” 

I think the general consensus was that we were going to cut out all the toxic bits from our life. He was a part of that.

“How was he toxic? Was he cruel to you? Did he hurt you?” Steven didn’t mean it at all as a sort of prod. Wide eyed and hands at his chest as he pulled on his sweater, it was an innocent question. He legitimately didn’t understand. 

Compliance in the face of cruelty is still cruelty.

Steven jumped as Jake’s voice cut across the space between them. 

Marc’s voice was a little quieter but still there. He’s right, Steven. He let it happen. He was very much a part of our abuse. 

Steven walked on slowly, hands gripping the fabric tightly as he struggled with this. 

“I don’t think he understands.” He thought about the few conversations he had had with the man on the phone lately. How surprised he had been at first and then how easily he had slipped into a normal conversation of ‘how are you’ and ‘how is the wife’ and further ‘you should visit.’ 

He doesn’t have to understand. Marc huffed. 

“But how will he know that he hurt us if we don’t tell him? What if he’s sorry?” A memory flashed across their minds of the old man in the window, beconning for them to come inside. To return home. Of the younger man pleading with him not to leave. 

It is not our place to tell him that he has caused us pain. It is his place to know and recognize that he should have done better as the father. He has every right to ask for forgiveness and we have every right not to accept it. 

Steven stopped again and felt himself drift ever so slightly. It was a lesson he had heard before. A teaching that he had never understood at the time. He was so gentle and soft, he had not understood what it meant to not forgive someone asking for it. He never wanted to hurt anyone. To cause conflict or pain. He wanted to be the peacemaker. To be loving and make people happy. 

Memories started to flow. Ones that never made sense before. Memories of an empty chair across from him at the table. Memories of his father sitting silently at the head of the table. Always silent and looking down. Memories of sad eyes watching him and turning away. 

When he thought of his father, he never could picture his father addressing him. Never recalled any conversations or praise or interaction. That was why he had become a hidden part of Steven’s life. Overshadowed by the mother that he thought and wished he had. Her attention had been on him. Her eyes always fixed on him. Her everything enveloping him while his father had given him nothing. 

Steven?

Marc gently reached out and Steven pulled back, physically taking a step back. 

Today was the day that he had become they. Today was the day that they had become a second thought and a third and then on and on until a mind shattered and now all the pieces were trying so hard to come back together but there were pieces missing. Pieces that would never be there again. Pieces that were too broken to fit. 

Steven, give me the body, okay? 

Steven shook his head and sat down there in the grass and dirt. He turned his face to the sky and felt the sun, colder now as it faded behind the clouds. 

Jake. Don’t… Don’t force it. Okay? Make it gentle. 

I have an idea.

Marc sounded tired and far away and Steven was distantly aware of his hand moving into his pocket to fetch his phone. A few buttons hit by feel and memory alone. 

The phone was a comfortable and warm pressure at his ear and against his cheek. 

Steven smiled as the phone rang. He searched the memories. Had it always been voicemail? Could he remember her voice? What would he say to her now? 

He would say a lot. He had so much to say. 

He heard the click of someone picking up. Or perhaps the machine. 

He could pretend. He could imagine just like always. It was no different than when he had thought she was alive and she had been dead all that time. Talking to ghosts. Celebrating ghosts… Everything in his past was a ghost. 

“Hey Mum.” Steven took a slow breath. “I’m glad you’re dead. I am. I don’t know what I’d do if I knew you were alive and had everything that I have now. Everything you gave to me.” 

There was a sound on the other end of the line but it was too far away for him to know it. He took a shaky breath and continued. 

“You gave me so much, didn’t you? More than pretend postcards. I wonder if you knew that you birthed another son when you picked up that belt. You lost one and gained another. Was it a fair trade? Was I enough like him?” 

He breathed softly, listening to the machine record. It was silent but he could hear breathing. Was it her listening? 

“I think I tried to make up for it, didn’t I? In a way. Marc felt so bad about how we lost Roro that he tried to give him back, didn’t he? But I wasn’t right. Did you notice? Did you notice me at all? Did you notice Jake? We tried, didn’t we? I wanted your love so much and what did Jake want?” 

He dug his free hand into his sweater at his chest and twisted tightly. 

“I realize now that I never asked about Dad. In all our conversations, I never once asked for him. He didn’t care for me. Even now, he calls us Marc and I realize I’m still masking. Without trying, I wear the mask around him. He wouldn’t give me the time of day. Now here I am reaching out and all he can see is Marc. And it isn’t even Marc he sees. He sees who he wanted Marc to be!” 

Steven closed his eyes and turned his face to the sky, listening. “Jake took over when it was too much. Did you beat him too? Did you make Jake listen to you as you made him nothing? As you told him not to exist? Is that why Jake doesn’t want to exist now? Because you hurt him so much? Did Dad ignore him too? Or did Dad talk to Jake? Jake was more of the son I couldn’t be. Did Dad tell him to be a better son? Did Jake ask Dad for help? Is that why Jake hates him?” 

He could hear the breathing on the other end, quiet and trembling slightly with emotion. 

“I hate you for how much you broke us. I hate you every time I wake up from a nightmare. I hate you for every tear I’ve had to shed without knowing why. I hate you for the doubt and self destruction you embedded into our heart! Every time Marc drinks and every time Jake sits in his car trying not to have a panic attack! I hate you for every moment I was alone and didn’t understand why! I’m glad you’re gone. I don’t know what I would do if I had to know you were there hurting us by refusing to love us! All I wanted was a mother and all you gave us was this broken house!” 

Steven wiped the tears from his face with the back of his sleeve. “Today is Roro’s birthday. Somewhere in another timeline I like to think that he’s still alive and I don’t have to exist. He’s celebrating with his big brother and a loving mother and father. But those people don’t exist here. There never was a loving mother and proud father. Roro is dead and so is that happy big brother. He died and now it’s just these ghosts inhabiting this body. We aren’t who we are supposed to be because of you.” 

He took a slow breath and looked at the sky, gray and filled with colors as the sun started to set. They were pretty. In the past, he would have glowed about it to his mum. Told her about the gorgeous sunset and amazing weather. Now he could only focus on the clouds. 

“I got your death certificate in the mail. Dad sent it to me.” He took a moment to swallow back the tightness at the back of his throat. “Long term alcoholism. Destroyed your liver. You must have been sick a long time. Dad must have known. We don’t let Marc drink anymore. It’s hard. We also made Jake stop smoking. I won’t let them destroy us the way you did. You took everything. You even took away our chance to tell you how much you didn’t deserve us. So I’ll say it now. You didn’t deserve us. We were too good for you. We deserved better. And we still do.” 

Steven choked back a small sound and wiped his nose. “Bye Mum.” 

He hung up and slowly put the phone down. 

The world was silent for a moment, and he floated over it. He floated in a space where he was happy and unaware. He lived in the light and acted as a beacon of happiness. He had to. There was too much darkness in their lives and someone had to help guide them out. 

He felt gentle hands wrap around him and strong arms pull him close. It was imaginary, deep inside where touch was odd and sometimes communication didn’t work. Yet still he sank into it as Marc and Jake wrapped around him like his favorite sweater. 

Distantly he heard the phone buzz and sing a jaunty tune. A hand picked it up and he wasn’t sure who it belonged to. 

“Hello?” No one was certain who was speaking. All three of them felt the body a if they were controlling a puppet on strings. Real but not where they were. They existed in a far away place where nothing could hurt them. 

“Baby?” Layla’s voice reached out. Even she didn’t know who she was talking to. She couldn't find their accent. 

Steven smiled at the cleverness that was Jake. Jake, unsure if they were in danger or not and knowing that they needed her, had called Layla. Always her. 

They struggled to reach through time and space, all three happy to hear her and all three unsure where they were in the head and body and world. “Hey. We’re… We’re okay. Still at the park, I think. We didn’t go far. There’s… Families and kids.” 

“Do you want me to come get you? Are you okay?” She was crying. They could hear her crying. Was she crying because she was scared? Had they hurt her again? 

No. She was crying for them. Because she at last understood where their pain came from. Where it started and lingered across their lives like an unending storm. 

They looked around. “Could you meet us at the exit? The one at the corner. We can get there.” 

“Of course, Baby. Do you want me to stay on the phone?” She sounded worried. 

“No.” They thought about it for a moment. “No. I… We want to be us for a moment. See you soon.” 

“Okay. I love you. Call if you have any trouble, okay? I’ll wait for you.” 

“We love you too.” They hung up and stared at the phone for a moment. It was odd. Before, in the rain and storm inside, they had all wanted different things and fought. Now it was different. They all wanted the same thing and moved without argument or asking. 

Standing up, they brushed the dirt and grass from their pants then moved carefully as if expecting the body to not function right. Taking a step, they expected it to be like walking across the moon. Yet gravity and the world was still there. The body moved and they blended in a way they had never felt before. 

It was odd. Both unsetting and comforting. They deeply disliked the loss of autonomy but there was a greater sense of comfort in knowing they had support. They were functioning as a team. 

They made it to the end of the park and stared at the people around them. People that moved and functioned every day as single units with one purpose and thought. None of it seemed real. How one body and mind could house so many and endless worlds and realities. 

One of those people smiled to them and hugged them close. “Layla.” They sank into her, hugging her, though they could only feel it from a distance. “Sorry. We aren’t sure who…Who is where.” 

“Do you need help? I’m not sure how I can help…” She looked them over as if maybe she could find a button or something that might separate them out again. 

They shook their head. “It will sort itself out. We’re just going to be for now. If that’s okay… We just want to exist right now.” 

She slipped her hand into theirs and held it tightly, anchoring them to her as they walked back towards their flat. “Exist. You deserve to exist as much as the rest of us.” 

They smiled and held her hand. It was nice to exist together. 

Part Nine (last one) HERE

[lulubelle814]

Just Dizziness - Chapter 32

Waking up, a heat could be felt along my back, warm breath on my neck, a heavy arm across my abdomen in a tight but comforting hold that helped chase away some of the lingering memories of last night’s nightmare.  I don’t know what I’d do if he forgot me.  I suppose it gives me some tiny inkling of what he’s been going through perhaps.  I don’t know that I could really ever imagine it or understand how he’s felt through all of this.  His seemingly never ending patience and love has been what’s helped keep me as together as I have been.  I don’t know what I’d do without him.

Looking at the clock and then the calendar, I realized my first therapy day is finally here. I couldn't quite decipher how I was feeling about it. Anxiety? Excitement? Fear? I don't know. I just know I can't go on living like this. Tom has been extremely supportive but this is no way for either of us to live. He can’t keep putting off his work, and we can’t keep pretending on the good days that there’s not a problem, as much as I would like to.

“I can hear you thinking.  It’s too early for that.”

Rather than respond, I turn over and tuck my head into his chest, pretending the rest of the world doesn’t exist, at least for the moment.

“What’s wrong, love?”

Electing to not respond, I burrowed further into his chest, if that was even possible, and wrapped my arms around him.  I would have run my hands under his shirt, but he only had his boxer briefs on.  So I tried to squish myself as close to him as I could, taking in as much of his touch and smell as possible.

“Talk to me, love.  I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

I knew he was right.  “I don’t know why, but I’m anxious about the appointment today.”

Placing his arms around me, he rested his chin on my head.  “I’m pretty sure that’s normal.  This is something new, and it’ll be talking and tackling some really tough things.  It won’t be easy, but I think it’ll help a lot, and I’ll be here with you every step of the way.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” his voice sounding reassuring.

I looked up enough to gently kiss him.  It seemed he always knew what to say, how to help me feel better. 

After a while, we finally pried ourselves out of bed for some tea and breakfast.  While Tom made the tea, I made pancakes.  “I love your pancakes.  Hell, I love anything you make.”

“You’re the better cook here, and we both know that.”

As he wrapped his arms around me from behind, he responded, “lies, and you know that.”

"My dear husband, calling me a liar? My, oh my.  I think you forgot the incident of the brownies?"

"To be fair, it was a new recipe, and the pages got stuck together. "

"Don't forget about the garlic bread?"

"That could have happened to anyone."

"Three times??"

"Ok, so you can't make garlic bread. Big deal."

"There's also the creme brulee." 

"You are still not allowed near a torch. Ok, I get your point, but you try, and that's what I love. You make so many things so well."  And with that, he kissed me on the temple, effectively saying the conversation was over.

Half way through breakfast, a buzzing noise startled both of us out of our breakfast bliss.  He checked his phone.  “Not me.”  Puzzled, I looked at my phone.  “Who could possibly be texting me?”  After a moment, I found my phone back in the kitchen next to the stove and brought it back to the table.

Emma: Good morning! 

Sophie: Hey Ladies!

Emma: Lunch tomorrow?

“It’s your sister!  She’s wanting to get together for lunch tomorrow. Looks like she's invited Sophie as well.“

“That sounds like fun!  Lunch with the girls.”

Sophie: I'll have to check in with hubs to see if he can watch the kids but maybe. I could use some kid free girl time. 

“I don’t know tho….” I felt hesitant.  While it felt nice to be invited out, I didn’t know about going somewhere involving people who knew me but that I couldn’t remember.

“If you’re not comfortable with it, that’s ok.  I’m sure they’d understand.  Emma has some idea of what’s going on.  You could text or call her separately, and she’d happily cover for you, or I could talk to Ben who could talk to Sophie.  I’m sure Sophie would understand.  Plus we have that appointment with Dr. Bertram this afternoon.  This could be a good thing to bring up to her and ask her how to handle it.  For now though, if you don’t want to, let Emma know, or I can.  Or we can make plans and use that to let them know you’re not available.”

I couldn’t help but grin as he prattled on, listing idea after idea to help me feel more comfortable.  All of his suggestions and ideas helped me feel at least somewhat better.  I know I have to figure out how to handle this at some point, but having his support is incredible.

“Didn’t we….uhhhh…..didn’t we talk about maybe going to the art museum?”  I suggested.

“You know what, I believe we did.  That and a bookstore, or two, I think you had heard about?  In fact, I think we have talked a bit about a few things, and tomorrow is a fantastic day to accomplish them.”  He gave his million dollar smile before giving a loving kiss and clearing the table as we had finished breakfast.  I couldn’t have asked for a better husband.

Me: So sorry. Have plans with Tom. Raincheck?

I responded to Emma and Sophie and set myself a reminder to maybe talk to Emma later about my reservations about getting together with both her and Sophie. Maybe I can ask Dr. Bertram about this, if not this afternoon then the following appointment?  I know I can't hide forever.

It didn’t take 2 minutes before my phone started ringing.  Seeing Emma’s name on the screen, I knew why she was calling.

“It’s Emma, isn’t it?  I swear she’s a mind reader, the next Psychic Sally.”

"I’m so sorry.  It’s too soon, isn’t it?"

I could hear her starting her washer in the background. Must be her laundry day which reminded me of the laundry I needed to do. I headed upstairs to gather the dirty laundry as I started responding to her. "I’m not even going to ask how you knew."

"I remembered our conversation from dinner at mum’s and put 2 and 2 together.  I’m sorry to have put you in an awkward position." Her voice sounded both hesitant and remorseful. 

"It’s ok Em.  You were just trying to do something nice, and I appreciate that.  It’s just….." I wasn't entirely sure how to continue that sentence, the laundry basket now hanging half full on my hip. 

"No, I get it.  I’d feel weird too having lunch with someone who knew me but couldn’t remember them.  If you change your mind though, the invitation is open.  If you ever want to get together, just you and me, I’m always up for lunch, dinner, shopping, etc." She sounded much more hopeful now. 

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and continued filling the basket. 

"Thanks, Em.  It’s not that I don’t want to get together with the 3 of us at some point, and I know I can���t hide forever.  Just so much to process still. Tom and I have our first appointment with the therapist this afternoon, and I’m so nervous with that alone."

‘It’s completely ok.  I’m always here if you want to talk, any time.  Maybe we could go for breakfast tomorrow before you and Tom go out on your newly planned adventure?’

I couldn’t help but laugh as I headed to the laundry room with an overly full basket of dirty laundry.

‘I think Tom and I can plan around you and I having breakfast.  Let's say 8? I'll pick you up? ’

"Sounds fantastic.  See you tomorrow!"

"And don't worry about Sophie.  It doesn't look like she'll be able to make it, but if she does, I'll cover for you. "

"Thanks again Em."

With that, I hung up the phone and started throwing laundry in the machine. Tom even brought the sheets while the washer ran the first load and placed new ones on the bed.

5 hours and 4 loads of laundry later, it was time to start getting ready. 

It was as if he could sense the anxiety seeping back in and wrapped his arms around me, giving a tight hug.  “I just finished putting the laundry away so we can relax after our appointment which will go well.  If it doesn’t, we don’t have to go back.”

I looked up at him as I responded, “promise?”

His chest rumbled as he let out a low chortle.  “I promise.  We can always find someone else should we decide to continue.”

Looking up at him, I was still feeling a bit unsure, and he responded in kind.  “I will also treat you to ice cream afterwards, regardless of how the appointment goes.”

“I’m holding you to that mister.”

We both wanted to make a good impression.  So Tom wore his signature blue sweater with his jeans and gray suede shoes while I wore one of my cable knit sweaters with skinny jeans and brown knee high boots as it was getting colder outside.  Plus, I could fidget with the sleeves throughout the drive there and during the appointment.

It felt like we were already at her door in the blink of an eye.  Her assistant, Julie, was extremely nice, offering us a beverage (water, tea, or coffee) while we waited, which thankfully wasn’t more than a few minutes.  Dr. Bertram opened the door to her office and had a warm smile on her face.  “Good afternoon!  You must be Mr. and Mrs. Hiddleston.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

I already felt comfortable with her, just by her presence alone.  She wasn’t super tall, about my height.  What I loved was both her hair and her outfit.  She had this beautiful teal dyed hair that hit just past her shoulders and her outfit was incredible: a white shirt with black angled lines, muted, wide leg yellow pants, and black sandal type shoes. I don't know why I thought she would be older with some type of stuffy outfit and thick rimmed glasses.  I just hope she isn't the kind who just responds with "and how do you feel about that?"

We introduced ourselves before she guided us over to an incredibly comfortable couch. 

"So to start off, I know formalities say to call me Dr. Bertram. There are those who prefer that because either they feel more comfortable calling me that or because that's part of what they're paying for. If you'd like, you can call me Natalie or Nat if that feels more comfortable. I really don't have a preference. "

Tom jumped right in.  “Thank you so much Dr. Bertram.  That’s very generous of you.  I’m as we get to know you, we’ll figure out what we feel more comfortable with.”  And with that, he gave a light smile, signaling that he was almost as nervous as me.

“Before we get started, let's run through what the basics are along with the options.  As I’m sure you read, and my assistant should have also given you the information, we can meet here as well as your home or other locations depending on preference and need.  Depending on the situation and such, we would meet one or more times a week, some may be with both or some with just you,” she said as she gestured to me, “based on the information sent over; however, that all depends on if you choose to proceed with me and vice versa.  I know there's anxiety over trying to find the right therapist.  If you feel I may not be the right one for you, I promise there are no hard feelings and would be more than happy to help you look for another one.  The same is true if I feel I realize I am not the right one for you as well.  The goal is you and your well-being, not to try and make me happy or force it to work with a therapist who is not truly helping you.  Sometimes you’ll know right away, but it can also take a few sessions.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding as I laid my head against Tom’s shoulder, him returning the sentiment.  In doing so, the muscles in his arms and neck start to slowly relax.  

Before Tom could speak, I cut him off.  “Thank you so much.  We’ll definitely keep that in mind.  How long are the sessions?  How will we know where they will occur as well?”

“Excellent questions!  Sessions are typically 50 minutes; however, if agreed ahead of time and dependent on availability and circumstances, they can be longer as needed.  At the end of each session, we’ll agree on the time and place of the following session unless you would like to have a set time and place for upcoming sessions which can be adjusted as needed.

“I also wanted to let you know one other thing before we begin.  I am not one of those therapists who goes ‘and how do you feel about that’ about everything in our sessions.  I may ask it occasionally, but it’s not my style.  I know some prefer it.  If that’s what you are looking for, I can refer you to a couple of therapists…”

“NO!”  We practically shouted at her before she could finish, looking at each other to see who wanted to continue explaining, but I let Tom take the wheel on this one.  “That’s very much NOT what we’re looking for.  It’s one of the main reasons we would have eliminated you as a therapist, to be honest.  It annoys both of us to no end just thinking about it as it is not our style either.”

We all gave a low chuckle.  “So we’ve covered the basics.  If you have any questions at any time, feel free to ask.  If you’re okay with it, I’d like to dive into why you both came in today.  I’ve read the paperwork, but I’d like to hear it from both of you if that’s alright.”

This is it.  I took a deep breath before I began.

“Okay, where to begin…..”

She smiled and responded, “I find the beginning is usually best.”

“That might be the tricky part.  I guess the question then would be, which part is the beginning?”

Chapter 33

[nomsfaultau]

Tumblr search bar won’t work so I can’t link to the post about the Dr. Blake polycule situation, but apparently I’m getting silly with the Fault villains atm, so to recap: Dr. Blake is potentially in a throuple who are all trying to keep their secret villainous identities secret. Dr. Blake as a Foundation worker, a CIA agent who specializes in “intel extraction”, and a dentist. Yes the dentist is the most evil out of all of them. Not it will never be confirmed to be canon bc Dr. Blake keeps her work and personal lives extremely separate, thank you very much. Anyway, I imagine they’re always playing like 7D chess in every interaction. And weirdly enough, despite them all having secret identities they have like wickedly good communication skills? Like Dr. Blake will ask one how they want their coffee today and from that deduce exactly how their day at work went wrong and elect to make it movie night. They never have a straight forward conversation but they don’t need to. And yet literally none of them suspect their partners are also secretly morally reprehensible. I dunno. It amuses me to imagine her leading a fairly unremarkable civilian life completely severed from her identity in the Foundation. Reserved, maybe, arrogant in her knowledge of anomalies and position protecting civilians. But she’s softened to an almost pleasant person, with regular hobbies like fps games or cheesy romance novels. She goes on walks in the neighborhood, attends city hall meetings. Calculating, sure, but outside the Foundation she doesn’t have to be on guard, ready to unravel some entity with her words alone in an instant. And it’s hard to imagine what a relaxed Dr. Blake looks like, because she never lets the mask slip. She’s terrified of ever being vulnerable, and so she’s built up this impenetrable wall between her work and home life, refusing to reveal anything lest it be used against, stopping herself from bonding with her coworkers because she’s waiting for them to die, unable to consider anomalies anything but a threat because she knows one mistake and its over.

I don’t think Dr. Blake can allow herself to be a person in the Foundation.

[rianafying]

was away from my phone for a day and it feels like i haven’t been on tumblr in ages.

it’s 2am rn, raining heavily, im enjoying this a lot. but i can’t help but feel overwhelmed by all the tasks that await me. just always, generally, in life. they’re not difficult to people, but they’re near impossible to me. i feel very scared very often. stability feels foreign and instability feels awful. cried a lot at the protest today, i can’t do protests they’re emotionally just too much for me. i’ve been daydreaming about falling in love. nobody in my mind, just generally, the idea of love. which is good i guess? it’s healthy to want it. i’m not as damaged as i had feared. but i really need to get a little more control over my life. drinking tea really helps with the nerves. gives me clarity. shuts down most of the chaos in my head makes it so that i can follow and complete one train of thought at a time. feels like a miracle drug but it’s just plain black tea, the cheapest most generic one i could find. crazy i know. i’ve been rewatching bridgerton. i really do love the show. and i have the fattest crush on jonathan bailey. embarrassing i know. it’s my guilty pleasure show. found some good music lately. new stuff. on repeat. added to my coming of age summer playlist. the age being 24. i can’t believe im going to be 24 soon and im so proud of myself not for anything i’ve achieved but instead for starting to let go of my obsession with achievement. there’s no good reason to torture oneself over never finding enough success under the horrible system that is capitalism. nothing is ever enough. makes me think of dc, when he said if you can, take my hand, i promise you’ll find love again, love again. very unrelated but also extremely related to my current situation. not soon though. i really hope it’s not soon. i’m enjoying my solitude. i swear the next time i do this whole love thing it’s going to be so different from anything i have ever experienced before. if there even is a next time. only time shall tell. i think time is the only thing can can be told and do the telling. i might be wrong, there might be a hundred other things. but. back to life as i know it today, i should sleep. i should shower then i should apply my medicine then i should sleep. i should also drink water. very very important. crazy how so much work is essential for the body to keep on living. and how it lets you know very aggressively when it has not had enough. food, sleep, movement, sun, medicine, and the list goes on. there’s so much stuff i need to throw out. so many people whose messages i have to reply to. i often forget because 90% of texting is just formality and roughly 10% is actual information exchange. i don’t think i’ve ever truly been missed by someone. my friends always say they miss me. i miss them dearly, but i can’t imagine being missed. like to think that they felt my absence and “missed” “me”. what a crazy world and what a lucky girl i am. at least in this regard. i wonder why hank and john have not spoken up about palestine. i wonder how anyone i have ever respected could stay silent while witnessing cruelty of this level. i’m not even a sjw or a particularly passionate activist. i don’t normally feel like everyone needs to care about something. but this? this is just. beyond. just beyond. everything. i worshipped hank and john. they taught me almost everything i know and i never thought i could ever be let down by them. yet here i am. learned my lesson about worshipping people. but what about god? god is so much worse, like asfsgshdjdkdldlflkkkl. it’s nearly 3am. i always do this. i always stay up too late the night before an important gig. it’s the over thinking that keeps me from peace. i’ll take some stevia w me to the studio so i can make my tea when im there! my brain.

i hope i don’t have to move back to bangladesh, because it is terrible over there. especially now that im seeing all the election season atrocities. i dont know what will happen in my life but i know that im trying my best. i’m always trying to prove myself, but to whom? who am i trying to answer to? pobody’s nerfect, i need to take it easy. goodnight for now.